I’m willing to hold on to this moment.
Last night I slept next to him, infinitely happy. He wasn’t content until we were cocooned together, perfectly placed so that his kisses would be easily placed at the back of my head.
At that moment, I felt I could love him. At that moment, he made my life.
We were discussing different types of alcohol. I had fallen in love with something new. He’s good at that– making me see things I’ve never seen before. He makes me let go, I’m sure, without evening know he’s doing so.
“So what’s an occasion when we can we have that?” I ask, inquiring about when we can drink the more expensive stuff. The MUCH more expensive stuff. He’s not looking at me, or maybe I was laying down on the bed… not looking at him.
And without a fucking second’s pause he replies, “When we’re engaged.”
I expect a moment’s hesitation at least, after the words sink into his own mind. Instead there’s nothing. He continues. “Or we’re married or something like that.”
“Oh really?” I respond charmingly. Mostly because I don’t know what to say. Mainly because I’m in shock. It’s the best answer I have without delving too much into his answer. I don’t want him to think I didn’t like the answer– and at the same time I don’t want to sound overly excited. A strange balance. That’s what good sarcasm is for.
I sit up, lean over and kiss his neck. He grabs my wrist and pins me down on the bed.
Fucking. Bliss.
My Mr. Absolutely.
I am, without a doubt, a strong woman. I do not tremble for men. I do not fall apart at their whim, nor do I allow them to get away with what they should not get away with. My heart broke because I spoke up for myself. I’m independent and apparently… he didn’t understand that after six months of being together.
I wonder if Mr. Absolutely knows this about me. He’s seen me while working. He knows I’m not one to be trifled with. Still, he runs his hands through my hair as if he understands and accepts this. Or is it just my illusion of him wanting to understand it? I cannot say. I think he understands better than my ex did.
Well, either way, what I’m irritated about– he apologized for. Mr. President* says I should be irritated any more. It just reminds me that I have a problem of letting things go.
But this whole thing is new to me, so I’m going to keep on learning and try to be less of a control freak about things.
I am the queen. I am myself.
I have lots of favorite things about you, but this one could top them all.
Without permission or me needing to ask, you run your fingers through my hair. It makes me smile when you get to a small tangled section and tenderly work your way through it. I think it’s the gentleness that gets me. You’re so tough on the outside. A little proud and arrogant, but unlike most, you deserve to be that way. You live up to your talk. You’re edgy, intelligent and knowledgeable. Committed, independent. Aggressive, soft.
It was the first move you ever made on me was when we were laying next to each other. At first, you took locks of my hair and spun them around your fingers. To be honest, I was scared. It seemed like it had been so long since I had shared such an intimate moment with someone else, but really… it had only been months. I wondered if you just liked my hair, or…. Relief swept over me as you finally pressed into me and kissed me. It’s such a human thing to be hesitant about such honesty. And kissing is honesty on a profound level.
Sometimes I wish everyone could see you like that. How I see you in our moments. Then I’m profoundly glad they’re saved for me. I tuck them neatly away and bring them out so I can smile in those moments where the world is spinning and I can’t grab a hold. Or moments like this, where slept is imminent and I wish you were here.
When I replay their night over in my head (because, feelings and complications completely aside, it was undeniably good night of conversation among other things)… Maroon 5’s song “Secret” plays in my head.
Their silly laughter, over very silly topics would fade gently to the music. The camera would pan over to the view of the bay and the orange lights of the bridge reflecting serenely in the lakes choppy, short waves. And finally when the song goes…
“I know I don’t know you, but I want you so bad…”
His hand grabs want-ingly (not a word, but it works) at her hair and pulls her into a kiss.
Ah, the mind of an author and her characters.
This is a rare romantic moment with my characters.
Though, it’s less romantic because they aren’t in love.
It’s more intimate… Yes. Intimate. Mm.
“All the legislation in the world will not abolish kissing.” -Elinor Glyn
i can’t sleep because i’m thinking of you.
on my velvet eggplant couch.
and a repeat of last saturday night.
none of the intricacies of the next day.
or how I feel.
just the moment. only the moment.
your fingers in my hair.
and the gravity towards your lips.
sometimes it feels like he sank into my skin and slowly ripped the veins from their rightful, blue infused spots. it doesn’t feel like i can love. i feel like it’s something i want but can’t have. everything feels very surface. superficial. and when it goes any deeper, i don’t want to believe it. i don’t know how to handle it.
“Guilt is the price we pay willingly for doing what we are going to do anyway” -Isabelle Holland
I relived it today and I felt guiltier than I’d ever felt about it before. Have I gotten to the point where I would say I wouldn’t of done it? Not really. I say not really because I learned a hell of a lot. That week, as much as I still hate to admit it, was the worst week of my life. I don’t know if being with Woody* made it worse or better. During our long night walks, I know I learned a lot. At a time where I felt silly, insignificant and immature… he made me feel assured, significant and intelligent. I really did learn things that I still hold on to today. The most amazing kissing and chemistry does not equate to good sex. Love is a choice, not a feeling. Those are just two examples. Not to mention the fact that I got to experience something that I can use legitimately in my writing now.
But back to the main point.
Guilt. Yeah. What I did was wrong, there’s no getting around that. I got caught up in the moment. I wanted to feel wanted. I took what he gave. I invited it. There’s not much I can do about it. But I did want to say that I do feel more guilty than I had felt.
*pseudonym
“Begin at the beginning,”, the King said, very gravely, “and go on till you come to the end: then stop” -Lewis Carroll
I’ve decided that writing down what’s going through my head will be a good thing for me. Mainly because it allows me to compartmentalize the part of me I least understand. Motivation, ambition, intellect, advancement. I have a grasp of all of it. I don’t have, however, the slightest grasp as to my emotions or feelings. That’s not to say I’m an uncontrollable person, no I’m far from that. Instead I hide behind a rather icy exterior that makes it easier to be less emotional. For six months, since my last relationship and the messy afterwards that’s all I’ve been. It’s not so much a ‘wall’ as most people put it. I’m not blocking anything, because I don’t want anything.
Or so I thought.
I met someone a week ago today that very much swayed my ‘icy’ exterior. We’ll call him Armstrong* I’m interested and curious about it right now. I have no idea where it will go and I really have no expectations.
But that alone is not why I’m going to write. In fact, it’s just a side story to the main event.
*pseudonym
