Can You Repair a Broken Soul ?

The break up wasn’t a break up in the traditional sense.  No drama, no acrimony.  Simply a flow from one state to another.  In the first state she was an active domme and in the second, she wasn’t.  In the first state I was her sub, in the second, a close friend.  

The friendship was enough, I had no desire to replace the D/s with another outlet.  And that wasn’t out of some misplaced hope that she’d return to being an active domme, I knew emphatically that she wouldn’t.  I just felt very comfortable in the companionship of someone who knew me so intimately and I know she felt the same.

She gradually withdrew from the world until she cut it off completely.  Imperfectly I knew some of the reasons and respected them.  Confined to a few short text exchanges a year I’d lost that companionship and that eventually led to me seeking new personal solutions and D/s outlet.  The lack of pain in the break up meant it was a slow drift of a couple of years to fully letting go and moving on with a wistful sigh.

Move on several years and one of those text exchanges becomes the first real conversation for a very long time – fuck did it make me angry.

Not at her, nor at myself.  I’m seething at the string of (mostly) anonymous men who destroyed the person I knew, made a misery of her life.  Their exercises in entitlement that left deep scars so long after they’d excised her from their own minds, if they’d even acknowledged she was an actual person in the first place.

If there’s one thing that emphasises melody as being a real person it is emotion.  When she’s in full flow, emotions can be almost physically tangible.  It wasn’t just anger, it was full blown rage that went on for over a day.  Such a visceral rage that the onlooking male persona was shocked; it was total anathema to him.

Fast forward a few weeks and she’d agreed to go to dinner.  I’ve no idea how much courage it took for her to step out of the house and in to the car.  And yet, most strikingly, there was not a single second of awkwardness between us.  That moment when two friends pick up a conversation as if the several years in between have no meaning.

I learned many things over dinner, some about her and some about myself.  I’d deliberately applied what feminine touches I dared for a public setting and she loved being reacquainted with the female element she first identified almost 15 years ago, albeit much stronger and much more visible.

The discussions were wide and varied, nothing off limits and no reluctance or embarrassment in deep and honest answers.

By the time I’d dropped her off and got home myself I realised that my anger had been leached away.  It could so easily have been replaced with pity and that would have been a disservice to both of us.

Instead there’s a determination to help.  For the time being that’s best done as being someone she can talk to, someone who does understand without judgement something of the experiences she went through – because it does sound as if the therapists do not understand, almost wilfully so.

The best part was that unprompted she wanted to continue the dialogue and that’s left me in a happy place with hope that there’s a way to restore this person who was so important in my life and development.  No, she’ll never be an active domme again, I’ll never be her sub again.  And all that is irrelevant in the fact of enjoyment in priceless companionship.