Morgana

The first time we met was in the fall of 2018 at a bookstore in Reykjavik masquerading as a coffee shop; her hair was black, tinted with blue and green, her smile was warm, and her eyes sparkled with mischief, but something more behind the scenes. She dressed like a vagrant artist without looking lost, like someone whose fashion sense was superior, but deliberate, and who wore fashionable clothes without chasing brands or trends. Like someone you'd only notice if she chose to be noticed, but that could otherwise be an invisible part of the background when she wanted to.

She exuded the aura of a thinker who was smart enough to realize how little we know about everything, the type of person driven to exploration by it rather than intimidated.

Yet, underneath the confident exterior, I could sense something vulnerable through her armor, peeking through and wondering what kind of person she was meeting here. Who was this guy?

I felt an instant connection and attraction, something I hadn't really felt since Sylvian. Something raw and primal, something that called out to me and urged me to abandon reason and let go completely.

Lilith and I had opened up our marriage a few years back, and were each discovering things about ourselves we had always known existed but hadn't been able to express without something breaking between us. Our relationship had never been based on the kind of raw intensity I could sense here, but a more rational form that was able to move mountains and build bridges. Ours was the love of a Sun rather than a Supernova, something that could sustain life without consuming it in a series of violent outbursts. Opening up expanded our universe, and we were exploring distant star systems. 

Exploration means exposing yourself to the unknown and recognizing that not all destinations are healthy places to be. Not all planets are habitable, not every star is capable of sustaining life.

On Earth, in Reykjavik, on a Thursday afternoon, Morgana and I drank coffee together and exchanged small talk that day, not the kind that uses small words, but that has substance and meaning behind it.

We talked about ourselves, where our journeys had led us, and what we were each looking for in life. She told me about having recently gone through rehab, and I told her what polyamoury meant to me and how it changed relationship dynamics.

I don't remember the specific details; only the essence of the emotions I sensed.

That is, apart from when I told her I could sense she was broken somewhere and carried deep wounds, perhaps not in those exact words, but the context of the words conveyed exactly that.

Most women would have ended a first date at around that point, either violently or politely. She did neither, but cocked her head as if considering from where what I was saying was coming from. The words themselves could have been interpreted as a calculated demeaning insult of a narcissist looking for his next meal or an honest observation without social restraints from someone not playing the traditional dating game.

Offense is taken, not given. Context matters; the same words can mean vastly different things based on the speaker and the audience. Your interpretation will be colored based on your background, how you feel, what you want to hear, or what you expect to hear.

I got the feeling she was the type that didn't like pretense and fake personalities, so I never pretended to be something I wasn't with her.

Shortly afterwards, she contacted me again on the dating app we had met on and told me her AA sponsor had advised her not to see me again.

Well, I thought, that was the end of that; it wasn't an unusual result of being honest about who I was and what I was looking for in a relationship, but by then, I had come to the conclusion that it was better than wasting time on a pretentious mating ritual that placed more priority on quantity and success, rather than quality and substance.

Little did I know how wrong I was; that was seven years ago, and we have been together in one form of relationship or another for all of them. We have moved between homes and even countries, experienced life and death.

At first, I was reserved, aware of the dangers of the Supernova relationship from past experience. I know this frustrated her; she could also feel our connection, but she wasn't accustomed to this kind of restraint, and it felt to her like I wasn't committing, even if I was, but in a more controlled manner than I ever had before.

I had to learn balance, to let love flow with deliberation, but to not let that control stifle the flow.

To love more, not less, but to not lose yourself in the process.