Unmoored from Her Gravity

 

Distance from her is like floating untethered from what grounds me.

When I’m away from Her I don’t lose my submissive edge. I gain it. It burgeons. It blossoms in silence. It aches in my chest when I wake up, haunts me throughout the day and perches low and heavy in my belly at night. It becomes the reminder that I’m not whole when I’m not under Her sway.

There’s this hollow pain to it. Not weakling insecurity quite, but more resignation without an outlet. Desire with no fulfillment because the one who can fulfill it isn’t there. I can go about my day. I can talk. I can decide. But underneath it all there’s this humming: I want to be grounded again. I want to be reminded. I want to be told my place in Her world.

My body knows She owns me before my brain can even begin to articulate it. I want to hear Her voice. I want to know what She'll expect of me. I want to be undone by knowing She's there and there is no pretense that I can run my own life. I feel too vulnerable to my own thoughts without Her. Too loose within myself. Like parts of me that should be bound by Her are beginning to look for Her in the darkness.

My need to be submissive consumes me because it’s more than lust. More than want. It’s who I am. It’s love. It’s knowing so truly that to serve Her is not something I do to garner Her attention. It’s where I belong. Where I’m useful. Where I find peace.

I can’t help but feel distance from Her as something lacking. Like a physical weight on me. Like I’m still wearing a collar I cannot feel. Like there’s an order I haven’t yet received but that I’m already yearning to hear. Like my knees know Her before I can be prideful enough to reason with them.

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