Love and connection
reverse psychology
The desire that fills me can be sated too easily. I like to be touched. When someone’s hand brushes my own, or a hug is held a breath too long, it makes me crave the small intimate moments of simple connection.
But the craving scares me. I will shy away from a hand as it comes close to my own, because it will mean too much to me. What can I do when I love over something so easy.
senses and senseless
My skin feels so warm, like I’ve been sitting in the sun all day.
Images are blurring together. Her lips, the rays of light breaking through my shades, the black of her hair. I cannot remember when I see them or in which order.
Her perfume is sitting in the air, waiting for me to consume it. And I do. Readily. Part of it safe and invigorating, another part rich. My mouth waters at the thought of it. And they mix with the tinge of sweat wafting between our bodies. Normally, something unpleasant, but on her, I almost drool.
Sweet fruits still linger on her tongue, left there from a dessert we shared. And they dance from hers to mine.
The bed squeaks as we struggle to stay still. A hum comes from the TV we’re too distracted to turn off. And rain spills across the roof, beating its hard surface. None of it means anything to me. These sounds all so insignificant compared her voice. The soft moans that I twist from her lips. The heavy breathing that rings in my head, begging me for more.
the girl who works
I sit outside an empty coffee shop. And of course it’s empty. It’s 9:23 PM on a Saturday.
Sometimes I come to places like this, when it’s quiet because it’s also peaceful. But that isn’t why I’m writing this.
There’s a girl across the street from me. She’s in her work uniform. Her shift must have just ended. And so, she too sits alone, on the stone water fountain curved with strange patterns.
Should I talk to her? Or is it better to leave her story a mystery?
Right now she could be many things. A bartender at the tavern down the street, an employee of the hotel behind the fountain, or even a performer.
And when I break this silence between us, she can only be one thing. One person. So, is it better to dream in silence, or live in singular truth?
reading
When you read, I can see the story play behind your eyes, and hear another world in your voice.
There’s a magic in you that sings to me. And it pulses through me with too much force. So much power, you have.
I find myself entranced, addicted, obsessed.
Lust and love
I was reading a story the other day. This girl was yelling curses at the world, complaining because she has lit fires and swung bats in the quest for love. She burns those who come close to her so they will burn for her, and she beats them on the chest so their heart will pound in her presence. And when they shy away form her touch, she cries to the sky above and the ground below for tearing this love away.
But this was never love. Love doesn’t begin in violence. Love is the kiss on your brow, and the brush of fingers on your cheek. Love is falling asleep on the couch and waking up in your bed. Love is steady and patient and giving.
Love is like a river. It does not push or pull, it simply flows. And if love is a river then lust is a wave; powerful, threatening, crashing over you. It twists your stomach and makes your heart beat faster.
Do not search for a river by making waves. Do not search for waves by swimming in the river. And do not reject either in search of the other.
to love
I have known people who love one another very deeply. But they don’t treat one another with love.
Some people reject love. Detest the very idea of it. Perhaps they’re afraid of hurting, or maybe they dislike the desire to do more for someone else than they would do for themselves.
These people choose instead to hate. Even with so much love in their heart. The hate is stronger.
