Love and Strife

It's not my fault--it's not my fault.

That was what they all told me, as I released her to the planet.

But somehow, wasn't I responsible? In some way, I played a small part. I know it. I know it in my heart.

I knew that look, just as his sword glided through her flower of a body. The look on her face was unmistakable--a look I had longed for her to give me, deeply, without even knowing so until the moment of her death. Pure love.

Everything within her was pure. Her resolve, her deep connection to the planet, her deep commitment to all that is just. But her love was the most pure. And not simply the love she held for me--it would be a blemish upon her memory for me to believe so. Still, her love for me was special. It was sweet and innocent and... and... trusting. I have come to treasure that love in my soul, in the days since her death. It is one tiny grain of purity within me.

But therein lies my blame. Had she not loved me so deeply, so purely, then she would not have died for me. That's right--she died for me, along with everything else that she gave her life for. Had our relationship been different--cordial, distant--it would not have saved her life. It simply would have released me from the sphere of responsibility... To ache. To grieve. And to continue on.

It sears like lightning in my heart. Every thought of her brings pain; every memory causes me disdain at my own weakness in which I was helpless to protect her from his twisted anger. But it brings resolve as well, and more than ever. My resolve on its own is feeble... But resolve bound to her love, which she perished to prove, that is a force altogether unstoppable. From that small bit of purity which she has shed for me, I draw a strength I have never known before.

She did not fail in her purpose, though death railed through her body. I watched her being absorbed by the planet, all her youth and tenderness streaming away. But she's still here, stronger than before. She's all around me, every moment. She floods my heart. And it's left to me to see that the calling of her life is fulfilled. Could I let her death become a vain sacrifice? I could not bear it.

My strength was a joke, and still I leaned upon it. In my strength I nearly saw my own ruin. But she died to give me a greater strength--a strength to find myself buried within the lies in my soul. A strength to love. And a strength to finish what she had the courage to begin.

This responsibility is mine, but I will never bear it alone. Even now, she is here. Even now, she gives me the strength to fight further.