If I called you Orpheus, would I be your Eurydice?

I came to you last night, heart sore and weary, and knelt before your feet.  Head bowed, I made my confession (Forgive me love, for I have sinned.  I have not the strength to keep the dark at bay), and into the silence of your acceptance, I drove forth my words.  From the darkest part of me, my secrets burst forth, each word giving the darkness power.  (Her words echo in my head and bleed into my shadows.  They no longer burn, instead they’re cold, the chill seeping into my bones.) You kissed my brow and held my hands, offering comfort but keeping absolution for yourself.

Oh how I wished I could hate you as the words of love and comfort and the offers of strength fell from your lips.  I wished I could pull away from your light, even as you held me in place, forbiding me to turn away as you ripped the scabs from my wounds, allowing the blood to flow.  As the life-giving fluid pooled around our feet, cleansing the wounds that were inflicted in love, you kissed me sweetly, the blood from your hands streaking my face as you brushed away my tears, offering my absolution.