The Salt Line I Crossed for Love – Part 3 The End
📜 Final Submission to The Hidden Porch
Story Title: “The Salt Line I Crossed for Love – Part 3 (The Ending)”
I should’ve left the moment my mirror cracked with no cause. Should’ve known when the cat stopped comin’ ‘round. But I didn’t. I stayed. Because that’s what the spell wanted. Or maybe… what my heart wanted too.
It was Dionne who did it.
That woman always been loud, but she ain’t ever been wrong.
She showed up one night unannounced, wrapped in a white headwrap, smelling like Florida Water and iron nails. She pushed past me, slammed her Bible down on my coffee table, and said:
“We gon’ break this tonight.”
She started prayin’. Psalms 109. Salt in her left hand, my hairbrush in the right. The candle Sable lit started flickerin’ wild. I heard the front door creak—but it ain’t open.
I felt like I was floatin’… or unravelin’. My name sounded strange in my ears, like it didn’t belong to me. And Dionne? She looked scared.
Not at me.
Behind me.
Sable walked in calm, barefoot, wearin’ that same brown linen shirt he always wore on full moons. His eyes looked darker than usual, like molasses that had been burnin’ too long.
He didn’t yell. Didn’t raise a hand.
He just said, “If she leaves, what happens to all you been tryin’ to protect?”
I swear to God, my house shuddered.
But Dionne? That woman grabbed me by the wrist and dragged me outside, threw white rice at the door, and started chantin’ in a tongue I didn’t know she knew. I heard somethin’ howl inside.
I ain’t look back.
She took me to her Aunt Genny’s in Perry. Old woman with cataracts that looked like smoke. Aunt Genny didn’t speak a word—just rubbed my scalp with coconut oil and buried one of my shoes under the porch.
Said I had to “leave part of myself there,”
to “make the spell forget me.”
Weeks passed. The dreams faded slow. Sometimes, I still hear his voice when it rains, whisperin’ my name from the roots.
Belovi.
Sometimes I still answer.
Now here’s the truth I came to say, Porch family:
I did love him. Or the version of me he shaped to fit his love.
I don’t know if I ever knew who I was before him.
I don’t know if I’ll ever fully break free.
But I’m learnin’.
My plants don’t bloom like they used to.
But they still grow.
And that’s enough for now.
So I ask you, one last time, before I close this letter for good:
1. If love teaches you who you are, but only after you lose yourself first—was it still a blessing?
2. Was he evil… or just powerful? Is there a difference when love’s involved?
3. Do roots bind… or do they hold you up when you forget how to stand?
4. And would you walk barefoot across salt again… if it meant feelin’ that kind of love just one more time?
This is my final porch sit, y’all.
— Signed, Belovi
Y'all, still reeling from my last post? That "salt line" wasn't just a metaphor; it felt like a tangible barrier, a spiritual tether that held me. When Dionne showed up with her salt and Bible, it was more than just an intervention – it was a spiritual battle to cross that invisible line back to myself. Many of you might be wondering, what does it truly mean to 'cross a salt circle' or 'break a line'? From what I've learned and experienced, it's about severing energetic ties and reclaiming your spiritual sovereignty. Sometimes, love, especially the intense, all-consuming kind described as 'The Salt Line,' can feel like it blurs your own boundaries until you don't realize you've stepped into a circle until you're struggling to step out. That image in my mind, walking away from that rustic wooden house at dusk, following a winding white line on the ground, and leaving a part of myself behind, is so vivid. It perfectly captures how incredibly hard it is to untangle yourself when your roots run so deep with someone else. It's not just about the person; it's about breaking a spell on your own identity, like pruning a small branch to save the tree. I've been reflecting a lot on Belovi's questions: Was it love or just power? Honestly, sometimes the lines are so blurred you can't tell. But what I do know is that true love shouldn't diminish you or make you forget who you are. It should help you bloom. For anyone out there feeling stuck in their own 'salt line' situation, whether it's a relationship, a job, or even just old habits, remember that growing takes time. My plants don't bloom like they used to, but they still grow. And so do we. It's about finding your own Aunt Genny, your own Dionne – someone who sees you, even when you're unraveling, and helps you plant a new seed. It might mean leaving a 'shoe under the porch' – letting go of expectations, old comforts, or even parts of your past self. It's scary, but reclaiming your own ground, your own energy, is the most powerful magic there is. So, let's keep sharing our stories and finding strength in our collective journey of healing and self-discovery. What's your "salt line" story?
Gadsden fl? Perry fl? Those are my neck of the country root working woods! I was raised in both cities and babyyyyyy the men and their root working is stronger than the women. My granddad and Gadsden (Quincy fl) first introduced me to it