Isis- Is She? Can She?

I see her only in the mirror in those delicate moments when she is betrayed by deceptive transparent blinds.

Only in these brief instances of unacknowledged nakedness am I privy to her rare exquisite pain.

I am slightly embarrassed for witnessing such pure vulnerability, so intrinsically delicate is she I flinch when I observe the superhuman effort she mounts to meekly signal for a band aid for her severely burnt hand. I understand, from a far off region of my brain reserved for telepathy, she burnt it in a moment of David-like courage attempting to caress the face of her beloved.

I know, somehow, that in her world wounds must heal at their choosing and she may not seek interventionist remedies. Again it occurs to me that there simply is no remedy for love burns. Her wounds will heal but it is her choice as to the extent of the infection and the scarring.

My heart thunders with indignation at the cruelty of such responsibility! Whatever happened to rights and tortious prosecutions and remedies?! Is there no justice in this world?

A chilly breeze blows through the open door he so maliciously left ajar. As the cold air reaches her injured limb she is torn between basking in the sweet relief from the pain and the heavy numbness spreading across her body. She must choose between living with the pain and slipping into the deliciously deep hypothermic sleep.

I cry from the vain effort of willing her to fall into that eternal slumber, surely death is preferential to such a torturous existence!!

In a herculian show of strength she flings her fragile body against the door to shut it and collapses from the effort. Just before her eyes close she looks up at me and smiles but I am so angry I turn away in disgust.

I cannot understand such irrational actions! I vow to
protect her from herself. So I lock the door and install bank vault worthy security. To prevent vulturistic lovers from burning her again I cover her in invisible body armor.

Behind the labyrinth of masks no harm can come to her again.

The touch of a worthy beloved is the ultimate sacrifice but it is a worthy forgone pleasure for the pain she avoids.

As I turn away from the mirror proud of my good deed of the day, I'm floored by the sudden realisation..that smile..those eyes..the numbness.. Is she? Can she?