“The Girl Made of Ashes” (Updated)….

burning ashes



She stood looking out at the sun rising casting sprays of light, reflecting a cascade of orange and yellow over the waves. She felt him even before he touched her, gasping as the heat of his touch singed her. It was like this with them, and she felt overwhelmed by the depth of sadness in it. He burned like fire for her and she was so willing and ready to become ashes for his touch. They spent most of the morning sitting quietly entwined on her balcony, watching the rippling of the water. They knew that it would not last, this peace, allowing themselves the morning to relish in it, trying to hold onto it as long as they could.

Love is like that, filling us with the need to hold it so tightly and hide it within, when in reality it is the lightly held grasp of a feather that is the truest form of love. She knew deep in her heart that he had to leave, it was his destiny after all and she couldn’t stop him from this. He had hidden in this cottage by the ocean with her for so long now that she forgot that forever was not in their cards.  Theirs was a different story, one of longing and need.  When she finally turned to him she glimpsed the flicker of fire in his eyes, afraid they would turn the waves that crashed in her heart to steam. She reached up and touched his face; he was so beautiful this boy she loved. His eyes deep wells of blue and often she felt like she was drowning in them. He whispered her name, “Cassandra” but she just shushed him and like a ghost drifted up and inside.

She had waited so long for him, feeling the physical ache of missing him. She had survived without him and would survive again till he chose to return to her; as he always did, for fleeting moments of warmth, his need for her to quench the fire that burned inside of him. She felt such possession of this, this need that radiated through her heart. She was powerful, bestowing her love on him, allowing him pieces of her magic.  Time was different for them, feeling like forever in her heart with fleeting moments in his.  She knew when the full moon rose tonight; he would have to leave and would not return again, until the need for her grew too much for him to bear.  She wished there was a way to merge their souls into one place, not the fluid state they had dealt with for years. She was ethereal, a whispering breeze to his rooted sense. She did not want to stop him from being who he was; but she knew that his heart beat with it.

She had stupidly, in a moment of fleeting weakness asked him, “Why do you love me”? He of course had answered with proclamations of his love, his depth of devotion to her. The same things she had heard from his mouth for longer than she should believe it. She sighed, she knew he loved her, she just wondered why he kept coming back to her for only tiny moments in their lives. What was she offering to him that kept him coming back to her; was she feeding his ego, or his heart? She had gazed back at him with thoughts of lying with him, their hearts beating in sync.

He really did have such a deep devotion to this magical woman, as she did to him. “When you leave you always take a piece of me with you”, she had whispered to him as she touched his chest, and felt his heart flutter. No sooner had the breathe of those words left his lips, a slow rumbling erupted that grew until it blocked out all other sound.  The ground felt like it was being ripped out from under them, the thin line that separated their worlds was being merged, and it was fuzzy and wavering. The two of them blinking, feeling like they were being shifted out of existence.  Little did they know that their world was at that moment being changed, their destiny rewritten, and everything they thought was set in the stars was being erased.


When we are little we put our ears on our parents chest, as we grow, upon the chest of our lovers; we are soothed by the rhythmic beating of their hearts.  It is the sound of life, a binding to us.  We are taught our heart is the giver of love, that if we give it to another we are giving a piece of ourselves.  This magic, this power we all hold in us, it beats everyday as a reminder that we are all connected, that life goes on. We hold a responsibility to honor it, to honor ourselves, to honor others.  She did not feel that her heart was being honored though, at least not in the way she did with the one she held. She was growing weary, What if the rumbling ground yesterday was a sign that she needed to finally close that door to him, to let him go without a promise to come back. She was just so tired, emotional drained by always being the one waiting, which was excruciating for her. Finding the inner strength to let go was almost as hard to bear as the thought of losing him. She knew deep down that giving him comfort, a place to run too was her way of helping him to escape reality. She was the humble girl who lived in the cottage on the cliff, deep in the woods where rarely anyone had the courage to venture. The town never gave a second thought to the unassuming girl in the woods; but little did the town realize that her tiny cottage had the best view of the ocean, that it caught the gentle breeze while they were stifled by the heat that settled in the valley.  The ocean blew in new life through her windows every morning and took the day with the receding tide every night. Hers was a place of magic, where you could manifest love just by believing in it.  She had grown up here, with her Grams in exile from the town, but she always felt she was the lucky one to live in this special place. Grams had been gone for so long now that she often forgot what she looked like; having to pull out the worn and dog eared picture she carried around of them when she was little.

Under the moonlight is where she felt most alive, warmed by the lazy glow of the moon. Many people embrace the light to find their strength, but for her it was always hidden in the dark that she found hers. She tended her moon garden, it was her place to escape to and think and reflect. Tonight she would be thinking about Sebastian leaving, how much harder it was this time. She started cutting back the Sea Thrift, Bellflower and moonflower,  breathing in the deep scent of night blooming jasmine thinking how badly her heart was hurting this time. Heart ache is such a weird word as it really does feel like a physical pain, the stab of each memory taking your breath away, sometimes bringing you too your knees. The evening primrose was just starting to bloom and the dragon flower coming up; it was always so magical here for her under the moonlight in her garden. She felt most alive, often just lying on the moist earth absorbing all of the energy of the plants around her. This was where she came to think, meditate with the help of the plants and trees she cultivated with such care. She loved being surrounded by the pine, willow, alder and ash trees; they were an array of differences that together were perfect.


(I hope you enjoyed a glimpse into my new short story…until we meet again)….Love and Light

Note: this material is copyrighted and the property of Julie Mathison, no one has permission to take, borrow, copy or paste this anywhere on the web, in their own blog or to pass of as their own writing….21SEP2015

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