When skies are gray

06/07/2009

Sometimes I often consider if my arduous love for you is not more for a concept - than for you, yourself. I sit and I try to objectively analyze my feeling, and my impulses. I consider when they arrive - just as seriously as I consider when they go. I look for patterns of habitual emoting - which might lead me to the disillusioning conclusion that it is more of a concept that I am in love with than the actual person. I try over and over to catch myself in a lie, to stop myself from creating fantasy from a raw reality. However, no matter how hard I try to dismiss my love for you as infatuation with a concept - I cannot do so. You are not just a concept. I know this, because i adore your imperfections just as much as your perfection. I can think back on the carefully cultivated hardness of your personality, and your over analytical style, and miss them just as much as I miss the tender moments of your embrace or the light in your eyes when I walked into a room. I've found that I adore your over self-indulgent technology addiction , just as much as I adore your fondness for literature, and history. I can look back into the wasted moments of the past - which were filled with my anger at your stubborn callus nature - and see that it was only you in your truest form, and I begin to appreciate it, because it is you.

One of the things I have continued to loathe is your abhorrent tendency to redeem yourself in the 11th hour of any situation. You had me at the brink of completely surceasing our relationship, and then you rode in on your black horse and swooped me up to you and coo softly in my ear all the words that melt away your past transgression. You've always done this - consistently, despite my continuous resolve to hate you. Even now, as we are in this static state of faux-platonic communication, you push me away, for weeks and months at a time. Just when I've decided that I will be able to move forward and reclaim my heart and soul as my own - you draw me back to you with a requiem of lovely soft words and declarations. I fight you the entire way, like an angry child in her fathers steadfast arms. I kick and scream until you've held me into a submissive peaceful sleep, and just like a child.. you lay me down and leave again - and I stay there.. longing for your return.


A weekend what seems like a lifetime ago - we were laying in bed one Saturday morning, hiding from the sun which shone in slices through the blinds. You were half asleep- and as you woke into reality you smiled a gloriously innocent smile - with no reserve or wall. I drew into you, yearning to crawl into you at your most perfect state and share the unadulterated joy. Wishing that every moment of our days together could be so bright and beautiful and unguarded. Your skin had a wonderful, natural musk - your pheromones and sweat mixing with the soft grassy scent of the soap you'd showered with the night before. I remember kissing your neck, and the way you responded - bowing into me with a carnal desire and excitement to be closer to the warmth of my mouth. There was nothing that morning to keep us from each other, as we awoke into the world together, united at the hips and at the heart. We were on a cloud of sheer elation, riding it into the coming day with an abandon that one only experiences few times in their life. It was a moment of sheer ecstasy.

And now as I look forward, I am like the planet turning from the sun - facing the dark funereal future of distance and pain. I realize that I am cold, and hard without you.