The Frequency of Love

My body is humming with electricity. Fucking humming. We've talked more and longer in the last week than we ever have. He calls me, he wants me, he needs me, but he can't make sense of it. He's questioning everything in him right now: what he wants and what he thinks he should want.

He is seeing the things I tell him in other people's words, his world is breaking open, his perception is breaking open, his understanding of himself is unfolding.

In Jim Carey's video that he sent me, Jim says "You only ever have two choices, love or fear. Choose love. And don't ever let fear turn you against your playful heart."

I don't know where things stand, where he stands. I think he's questioning his reasons for not being with me while at the same time, staying adamant that we should not be together. Whether, in the end, that is because he is aware in himself that he simply does not love me enough to traverse being with someone so much older than him or if it really is just to ensure we salvage our friendship, I don't know. And may never know.

I had an experience the other day wherein I saw how sad it would be to lose him as my friend, the most specialist of friends, because my ego was hurt that I was not enough. It was awful. When I saw that that's what it could be like, it was like a I had a second chance to keep him close to my heart. Because, in the end, it would be devastating to lose him there. Once realized, I wanted to run to him and hug and kiss him and tell him everything was okay, he was free, I was free.

I couldn't run to him, so I told him over text. I set him and me free. He was grateful and wanted to hug me so tight. And in that moment, we were in the light of everything good. We were being shined upon. Two of the lucky ones.

And in that moment, my love and appreciation for him deepened.

And in the later moments,  when I lay on the couch and imagined his body so tantricly next to mine or when we talked on the phone and his voice, so deep and soft and pulling, was in my ear, I wanted him with all of me. Every cell in my body was reaching out to him, desire so thick I could chew it.

I am afraid that in his youth, he is enjoying playing with the fire, he is addicted to the passion in between, which is why we break every time that starts to wane.

I'm going for a reading today, and I am prepared to hear, "You're going to get hurt because he's not in a good place, he is simply addicted to the intensity of the moment."

I gave him this Rumi poem the other day:

Who makes these changes? 
I shoot an arrow right. It lands left. 
I ride after a deer and find myself 
Chased by a hog. 
I plot to get what I want 
And end up in prison. 
I dig pits to trap others 
And fall in 

 I should be suspicious 
 Of what I want.

I should note, the same goes for me. I adore this flame. I adore him for waking it up in me.

I can't see anyone else touching me the way he does.

I can imagine being with someone else, I can imagine falling in love with someone else, but I can't see that they will ever make me feel quite like this. This is like touching the middle of the soul.