The Light in the Day

I do this thing where I ask the universe to show me the light in the day. I do it when I find myself stuck in a shitty place, my brain taking my heart to sad, stuck places. Places where my ass ends up in my couch and Netflix is ruling my life and I need it to stop.

I have no one and nothing at this exact point. No one is home, I am alone. It feels, well, lonely. So, I ask the universe to show me the light in the day. The light where I am alive regardless of my feelings or thoughts.

I turn the music on and let the light take me where it will. The music becomes the air around me, it becomes my heart and my pretty heart sings - and just like that, I feel joy.

Something Sweet

I had a lot of fun with him this week in work, life, and bed. I have a number of feelings around it all: exhaustion, giddiness, love, fear, desire,  and joy.

I don't know what to make of it all; I know I'm not supposed to make anything of it yet a part of insists on having some different level of understanding. What are we doing, where are we going, will I get hurt, is it just about sex, do we really have anything in common, is this going to fizzle out quickly...?  Or do we love each other?

Exhaustion:
I'm exhausted around how fucking happy I feel. My heart feels like it's continually blooming, over and over again. How long can that last?

Giddiness:
See above. It's exhausting.

Love:
How my heart feels when he says things like "I love being with you. I just want to make you happy, do I make you happy?" My stomach swoons with a depth when we touch those moments. When our foreheads touch, when our eyes meet and that knowing thuds beware - you are falling. When he kisses that spot between my eyes or my face, the tenderness that is attached is beautiful. When I return it, it is with all of me.

Desire:
That longing to feel his skin, his body next to mine. To kiss his lips, to feel him inside of me or the warmth of his mouth between my legs - his face buried deeply.  The sound of him coming undone to his desire when he fucks me aggressively and instinctually - my god I desire that.

Joy:
The forever smile on my face, the song my heart seems to subtly and quietly forever dance to, day in and day out, day in, day out.

This week he whispered in my ear that I was like a drug or like honey that he couldn't get enough of.

I want this. I want what I have with him... .  I accept and surrender to this - something sweet.

Mayhaps

I mean, whatever and shit. Christmas is weird.

Here I am, another Christmas morning, awake by myself for hours as usual, waiting for the hype of the day to consume itself.

I don't even have anything to say here, but writing is a friend so I do it.

Speaking of which: the daily grind is getting that edge to it, that sharp edge that I don't want to acknowledge.

I forgot that writing stories is like a vacation from life, that I write the escape I want to see - so there's that.

I don't have to write for people, just me. I don't have to be so serious... just write.

I think I might look forward to that.

I am grateful that I have people. Christmas would be a lot weirder if I had no one to complain about. So, there is that, too.

Whatever.

Evolve Or Die

He said, "I love holding you, I love fucking you, I love being with you, I love working with you... can you see where I'm going with this...? "

Yes. I can. You love me.

You love me.

And we evolve.

I've been waiting for him to say this.  I could see it on the tip of his tongue.

He came over to watch a movie and eat dinner, to spend time... not just fuck. So, we watched a movie, a little bit of it (Love Actually) and then had sex instead. A making of some kind of love.

What an interesting picture this paints.

I watched him sleeping. I looked at him and felt the same, I didn't shy away.  He slept and curled up beside me - his spot. My spot being buried into his neck.

I don't know why I feel the way I do, but I'm good with it. It's hard to say, but





I love him, too.

I gave him the glass heart.

I'm afraid to love you, but I do... that different kind of love.

I love you.

Another Cognitively Dissonant Christmas

I have to remember I can't trust my feelings around this time of year. For reasons not clear to me, Christmas, especially December, makes my mind go amuck.

The reasons seem obvious, but also not. I don't knowingly feel overwhelmed by Christmas. I both reject and accept it. I hate the commercialism but love the coziness of it. So, why does it make me feel anxious? And why do I start to reject absolutely everything?

It's gross. I hate this feeling. This idea that I am enjoying aspects of the season but feeling so apathetic.

Such a conflict.

And I remember the years past feeling like I was losing ground only to have January come about and I feel normal again.

Is it family? Is it expectations? Who's expectations? Mine?

For the last twenty years, Christmas has been my job to pull off. I've got to say - it's a fucking lot to ask of someone. While I try and let go of that expectation on myself, the habit remains. It's twenty years in the making.

So, what shall I do?

I shall accept the odds, I suppose. Surrender to my incompatibility and put thoughts and feelings on a shelf for now. I will review them in the new year when the air clears of this ambiguity.

Love

I don't know if what I feel is love.

We decided to skip this week. Fucking like we do gets a little routine and lack lustre if it's on a clock. I was done for a while, I didn't feel the need to visit our bubble, and, as it happens, neither did he.

I was feeling done with us and our bubble the way it is/was. It had reached an evolve or die kinda spot.

And now that I know we both are good and don't feel the desire to visit, I feel endearment to us.

It feels again a little bit like a tender love - even though it is based on fucking. Is that love?

If it is, it's a little exhausting. So much blooming. Ugh.

Waxing Love, Waning Alien

I hope it's the full moon. I feel odd. Outside of myself. It's just one of those weeks. I'm an alien to myself.

Like I'm missing a goal, this morning my body suddenly said, "you must start writing again."

I must remember one of the greatest reasons I am here - to create stories.

It doesn't even matter if the world reads them or recognizes them, the greatest reason I am here is to say them. Stories, I have a lot of.

I've lost them in this whirlwind that is my job and life as of late. It's been good, almost as if I was supposed to lose them for a time - but that time is gone now.

I think I feel sad about that. I think that, today, it means that my journey with the Greek has passed. Over the weekend, I lost something that attached me to that relationship and I don't know what that thing was or is. It could be that it's just changing and evolving...

I didn't not enjoy the time we spent together this week, but it did feel routine. The nicest part of that routine was the sleeping together, the cuddling throughout the night, the waking up and working from bed.

He had said he just wanted to take his time with me sexually, he hadn't wanted to just get to the fucking but we did. It was me that urged for it - even though I too would have preferred to mix it up with something a little less fuck-the-shit-out-of-me sex.

Maybe it feels like we're at fork in the road, evolve or die. Do we want to evolve? That means a relationship, and it appears that my body goes into a cold sweat at that thought. A vomity, cold sweat kinda fear. Is it fear though? Or is it just... I don't want that. Is it the fear of not wanting that?

And so, I am reminded of my sole goal - write. Don't get lost or caught up in a relationship. Don't get distracted. Write.

And in order to not get caught up in it, I will scream, "No, I can't. I have to write. See, I have all this stuff I have to do. I can't do you. Sorry, I'm busy." And then throw up.

I am definitely afraid. It's weird. I can't remember the last time I felt afraid of myself in this way. It was probably when I made the first big decision to leave my marriage - I was fucking terrified then - but I knew that fear, that fear was... obvious. This seems a lot less obvious. Unless it comes down to the fact that, now, after all this time, I am just not that into him and I don't want to admit to it so I make this drawn out Oh my god, this is so deep emotional plea to love.

It's weird though, because I still felt love. Although, in my truth, I think I'm afraid I felt the waning of it. This makes me feel like an alien to the person I've been for the past year.

I hope it's just the moon that's making me a little crazy, pulling at my soul, nailing a possible truth to floor in front of me, whispering "Get to work."

Anticipation.

Today I am a little scared that I am afraid of us. That whole shit be getting real thing.

I'm afraid we've accepted that, in whatever way we do it, we love each other. Why does that make me want to puke? That we've accepted it seems to be the catch. We've accepted and are going to let it do its thing. He doesn't appear to be putting up so many road blocks to slow shit down.

This happens sometimes when I'm going to see him again after a week of not. The last time we were together is always great, the fantasy memories of it throughout the next week are great, the love, because of the distance and want, grows - and then I'm afraid it will be gone?

What if I loved it in my mind so much that it does that thing that things do and makes itself more real than is pretty and alluring.

What if we've fucked the fuck out of each other? What if we've exhausted this?

I also feel that when his skin is close to mine, I can breath again. I can let go of the breath that I didn't know I've been holding. I can relax.

Today it feels even more urgent that I be in his arms and feel his warmth. I'll have to work with him for a full 8 hours before I can touch him. Before I can relax.

Maybe that's what scares me.

My skin, my heart, wants the breath. What if it's not there?

Knowing that something exists that you no longer want to live without... chancy.

It's always been that way for me, knowing I didn't want to live without it. But, he never really gave it to me before. Now, it feels like he's surrendered to a majority of it, not all of it, but most of it. It being the idea that him and I are more.

He has given over a piece of him that I wanted which has, perhaps, lulled (or is lulling) me into a false sense of security.

Now, I'm letting myself love him, not knowing what will come of it.

Where Things Start to Feel (a tiny bit) Dangerously Real

It went well.

Of course it went well.

I told him I had a past that affected my sexuality in a way... yadda, yadda, yadda.

I told him that I faked some orgasms. He said that, if anything, that hurt more and asked me to please not do that. If I don't have one, that's fine, we'll find a way together.

Shit be getting kinda real in a "sure, okay" shrug of shoulder aint no thang kind a way.

And over this past 2 weeks, so many other things have happened. He asked me about my fantasies, I said I couldn't nail down just one as the fluctuate, but they all boil down to one thing usually, either a) intimacy so profound that you have earth shattering orgasms or, more likely and often  b) sex where I'm being slightly dominated and my body simply there for their pleasure - and often there is more than one of them. There, I said it.

I don't like to admit to that because I'm afraid/ashamed that my desire for that comes from my experience, that on some level I'm trying to recreate what happened all those years ago.

Ugh. There, I said it. Ugh, ugh, ugh.

He wants me to tell him my fantasy, but that right there is why I can't.

Anyhoo, the funny thing is: I've mentioned, he's a real talker in bed, to the point where I laugh because it seems silly. He also likes to be a little dominating and pushy at times, which I also thought was "pretty cute."

But then, I realized that some of what he does/says IS THE SHIT THAT IS IN MY FANTASIES.

hahahahahhahaha.

So, the other morning, as he was working at making me come with his hand while he's fucking me, he's whispering in my ear dirty little words. Instead of thinking it was a him thing, I listened. I followed him, the sound of his voice, to where ever he was. I let him take me there. I let go. 

It was fucking fantastic. 

Shit be getting real. I love it, but it scares me that it will scare him. I can see we're falling in love. I lay in bed with him in the mornings ('cause we sleep over now, too) and I love him. I feel shit stir as my skin touches his, as I run my hand along his body. I can feel myself loving him. 

I think we can stay the way we are and still be in love. We don't have to move in or spend every waking moment together. But it is still love and it will continue to grow unless one of us feels the overwhelming need to stop it.