Do you see me?

“This is basically like a menu for people.”

She wasn’t wrong.  Dating had become a strange phenomenon.  There wasn’t any spark or meet cute involved anymore.  Now it was similar to the way a couple picks a sperm donor or, as Melody said, the way a person picks their food off of a menu.

“Yeah, but Mel, attraction plays a role things anyway right?  I mean, come on, when you’re seeing someone from across the room, as all the songs say, you’re only noticing them because of their looks right?  So, here you are.  Seeing someone from across the city.”

“Not the same,” she was still a romantic.

“Of course it is,” I wasn’t.

She shook her head in response, “no it isn’t.  Not even close.  You can’t get that feeling from a picture of a person you’ve never known before.  Someone you’ve never seen before.  It’s not the same.”

“Fine, tell me why then.”

She turned towards me with her hands in front of her.  They were pointing at me like arrows and she was attacking my assumption that online dating and meeting someone in the real world for the first time are the same.  She was riding her horse and she was going to die on it in battle.

“So many reasons!”

“Such as?”

“Pictures lie, for starters.  Its a snapshot of a person.  They might be pretty but what if they have a terrible voice.  What if they walk funny.  What if they smell bad?”

I laughed, “so you’re reason why online dating isn’t as good is even more superficial than online dating?  Wow Mel.  Wow.”

“No!”  She laughed and pushed me, “it’s the reality.  The reality of all of your senses telling you that someone is the one.  Or, potentially.  You can watch the way they interact with other people.  You can see the way their smile slowly creeps across their face.  The sound of their laugh, a genuine laugh, when someone says something funny.”

She stopped for a second and dropped her eyes from my face and looked at her shoes.

“The way your body trembles the first time they brush up against you in the slightest way and you catch the scent of them whether its cologne or the soap they use or just their natural smell.”

She paused again and fidgeted.

“You remember those things.  They mean something.  They develop in your head and fester until you become obsessed with them.  You make up fake conversations that you have with them about the first time you noticed them and you pretend they noticed you for the first time then too.  It’s a story you create in your head because the reality is they don’t know you exist and you’re too afraid they won’t care when they find out you do.”

Melody wiped her eyes and sniffled then picked her head up and smiled at me.

“Why would you want to deprive yourself of that by meeting someone online, huh?  Isn’t it grand?  Doesn’t it sound wonderful?”

She tried to laugh it off and turn to the computer.  She clicked through a few profiles.  She found someone who looked nice.  He wasn’t too attractive but he wasn’t someone who spent most of their life in dark hallways either.

“He’ll do I guess.”

“I guess?”  I looked at her with my forehead making all kinds of squiggly lines.

“Yeah I don’t know.  He seems nice.”

“Mel, you don’t want someone who seems nice.  You want someone who seems amazing.  You want-,” I stopped this time.  She picked her head up and looked me in the eyes with tears floating on the brink of escape and I stopped talking just to stare at her.

You don’t always remember the moment you really noticed someone.  You always knew them and who they were and you looked at them hundreds, if not thousands of time, but you never can remember the moment when you first noticed something specific about them.  Like the way they smile or the motion they wave their hand in when they pull their hair behind their ear.

Right then I noticed the way she looked at me with her teary, reddened eyes and I looked back at her and my mind spoke up out of turn and asked if I had ever noticed how beautiful she was when she cried.

I shook my head.  I couldn’t answer.  I couldn’t say out loud that I hadn’t and talk to myself like a psycho, but I did notice.  I saw her looking at me and staring into my eyes and she was so beautiful that I wanted to kiss her.

I didn’t though.  I couldn’t.  I didn’t even know what that was.  Why was I looking at her like that after all of these years of knowing her?  It didn’t make sense.

I shook my head and mumbled something.  She turned away and we decided that online dating would have to wait.  We went out for ice cream instead and sat on a bench until the sun fell and the moon splashed stars across the sky.  We talked and laughed and sat in silence.  It was one of the best days of that summer and I’ll never forget it.  It was the day that I realized I liked her.  It was the day when I truly understood what she meant about online dating.  It was the day I saw how beautiful she was when she cried and when I vowed to never see her cry again.

Eve

“Close your eyes for a moment and listen.  Stop thinking, stop questioning and do it.  I’ll wait.”

She hated giving in but she decided to concede for a moment.

“You better not do anything to me or touch me or try to scare me.  I’ll fucking sock you one, hard.”

“Shh.  Close your eyes.”

I waited ten seconds for her to settle before speaking again.

“Now don’t say a word and try to move as little as possible until I tell you I’m done.”

I was only a foot away from her.  We were sitting in the car in the back of the parking lot at the grocery store.  It was late and there weren’t many people around.  The car was off and there was no sound except the occasional car zooming by on the highway that ran next to the parking lot.

“You’re you and I’m me and we’ve got this thing between us.  We also have our own things going on separately and we can’t spend every moment we want to with each other.”

My voice was soft.  I had to concentrate to keep it as monotone and straight as possible.  It often fluctuates to eccentric when I’m the only one talking, as if I forgot how to speak as if I were a normal person.  I maintained it now as well as I ever had before.

“So I want you to try and imagine, without guilt or wariness, that it was just us in another plane of existence.  Somewhere that we could be we and nothing else was in our way.  No schedules or interruptions.  It was just like this, the two of us, only closer.”

A transport trucked whizzed by and the car rocked back and forth in its wake.  We both remained still.

“I want you to think of this other world us and imagine yourself there in other world you.  I want you to think of tonight in the stillness of the night in a quiet house with all but one tiny desk light on to peek through the room.  It’s just us there laying on the couch together enjoying the sounds of each others breathing.  My hands are in your hair and your making soft cooing sounds every few minutes.”

I grazed my finger tip along the side of her neck and around the back of it.  Her held tilted and a soft sound was muffled by her closed lips.

“It’s Christmas Eve and it’s just us.  The night is creeping on and we’re stretching it out as far as it will go.  We’ll eventually slip away to the bedroom and stick our bodies together as if they were made of glue but not before our eyes got heavy.”

My fingertips slipped through her dark hair and let it cascade downward out of my hand.

“When we woke up the next morning we’d let the day slip away.  Christmas morning would be Christmas afternoon before we decided to get out of bed and join the world.  We’d be able to do anything.  Presents.  Slip into the car for a drive anywhere just to enjoy the lonely roads together.  It was as if the world fell asleep and forgot to wake up with us and we were going to take advantage of it.”

I wasn’t looking at you.  I was speaking down your body.  I knew if I was speaking at you and looking at you that it wouldn’t last long enough because you’d tell me to stop.  Now I was almost done.

“So tonight and tomorrow when you’re with you and I’m with me remember to close your eyes and catch a flash of us.  That’s where we can be together when we can’t be together.  I hope you can make it.  Alright, I’m done.”

Then I leaned in and kissed her on the shoulder and stopped talking.

Kiss Me Like You Mean It

Assault me with your lips.  It’s the only way I know how to describe the force I want to feel from you as you kiss me.
An onslaught.
An attack.
A blow of fury.
Ride your forces across my lines and invade every corner of my existence.  Don’t stop until your charge breaks through.  Don’t stop until you’ve crushed me into you.

Kiss me.  Love of god, fucking kiss me.  Bite my lips.  Pull.  Tug as if your rancor’s suffered long enough and you’ve needed to unleash a ripping of flesh as if your fangs cannot be satiated.
The balance between heaven and hell in a kiss is awkward.  To miss someone so much you want to hurt them.  To love them so hard you want to die.  To touch your lips to there’s so intensely that the desire to do them harm is only outweighed by that to heal.

A kiss should kill you both and then breathe life back into your lungs.

The heat should not let up, but only build inside the cauldron.  Friction of your tongue to mine, pressed hard like a fist into a fist.  Both sides unrelenting until your head, or mine, moves from one side to the other.  Wildness takes over.  We glide along together and our tongues dance.  Only the instinct of survival, to breathe, allows us to unlock our spiral.

Panting breaths.
Heaving chests.
Wanton eyes.

The magnitude of our ferocity will spark a fire.  The fire will burn between us only until we’ve extinguished it with our lips.  Nothing else can stop the ache in our bones but each other.

Kiss me and don’t ever stop.
Kiss me like this every time, as if you’ll never kiss me again.
Kiss me as if all your plans are cancelled.
Kiss me as if your eyes only shine against mine.
Kiss me forever and I’ll love you just as long.

 

In Bed

We’re in bed again.  We always end up bed.  Even if the bed isn’t an actual bed.  Do you remember the time we were camping and the rain started to seep through the tent?  It was an old tent and you warned me that it didn’t look like it would hold.  I said you were crazy.  Well, the tent couldn’t hold and the seams busted.

It was pouring out, a torrential downpour, so we ran for the cover of the trees.  Our campsite waterlogged and looking more like a pool as the seconds passed.

“Fuck!”  I yelled.

“What?!”  You jumped and looked at me in a panic.

“The keys!   The car keys are in there!  I’m going to have to go fucking swimming to find them.”

You just laughed.  It started small and then erupted into this explosive laughter that made you fall on the ground.  I remember the way you could barely breathe as you gasped for air.

The water was held at bay in our cozy spot in the trees as the canopy of branches and leaves kept us as dry as we were going to get.  I looked down at you as you wiped your eyes, finally able to compose yourself after your hysterics.  You looked so fucking beautiful at that moment.  The smile in your eyes was glowing.  It could have just been the tears reflecting the moonlight with a slight addition from the rain, but it was breathtaking.

Your hair was soaked.  I always loved the way your hair looked fresh out of the shower, nearly dripping wet down your back.  This was even better.  You were fully clothed and it was sopping wet.  Rivulets of water streamed chaotically down your face.

“What?”  You said as you looked up at me.  I shook my head because I had no words.  All I could do was lean down to kiss you.

That kiss took over and turned into my hands under the wet fabric of your shirt.  You received my advance and let me take over.  I was an animal in my thirst for you.  The forest floor was our bed that night.  I ripped our clothing off and threw it underneath me.  I pulled you onto me and held you close.  The rain bathed our skin as we gave thanks to the gods with our own dance.

Now you’re sleeping here next to me.  It’s the middle of the night and I woke up.  I never really fell asleep actually, just in and out after we tore at each others bodies for most of the night.  I’m laying here and all I can do is pay homage to you by writing down my thoughts.  Thoughts of the time we’ve traded our deep meanings and intellect for raw surging lust.  Your thighs slathered around my hips while your ankles locked behind me.  You never even took off your heels, and its just one of the reasons I’ll never stop being in love with you.

A Love Affair with Writing

I was recently looking for an image to feature regarding one of my posts and I came across a very old looking picture of a very beautiful but serious looking woman.  The picture is above and is of Camille Claudel, a French sculptress.  I thought she was very pretty.  She had depth to her eyes and gave a solemn gaze.  The way her hair looked along her left side, as if it had come slightly undone, gave her the look of tempered wildness.

I did some reading about her to find she wasn’t an ordinary woman but a tragic artistic figure born in the 19th century.  What intrigued me more was that she had a working relationship, and affair, with famous sculptor Auguste Rodin.  I recalled his name but I couldn’t remember why though so I did a little more reading.  Then I saw some of his more famous works, The Gates of Hell and The Thinker, and immediately knew him.

It made me think how incredibly romantic it is to be working with someone so closely doing something you love and having the relationship slowly evolve into a steamy love affair.  Of course not for his longtime partner but we gloss over such subjects when romanticizing interactions such as these.

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A love letter

Hello Love,

I know you hate it when I call you that.  Not the kind of hate you have towards mosquito bites or impolite people but a cute, hyperbolic kind of hate.  Similar to when you tell me you hate the way you can’t walk by a Sephora without spending money or when I won’t stop staring at you while you’re reading.

Right now I’m imagining you saying, “I hate it when you call me that.”

To which I’ll give you the answer I always give you, “I know.  Stop being so perfect and I’ll stop calling you that.”

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Neruda

I had written this about 8 years ago.  I had wandered upon Pablo Neruda by accident mainly.  I believe I read the lines “forgetting is so long” from his poem Tonight I write the Saddest Lines.  I looked him up and read a lot of his poems.  This particular one, Drunk as Drunk, struck a chord and I wanted to write a story around it.

I had to tweak it a bit as I had originally written it as a first person telling from the male character’s point of view.  I had also had an idea where he would be a non-native English speaking person where some of the words would be slightly awkward but I decided against that as it didn’t work well when I was re-reading it.  So if there are any errors in there it was a quick retype and I might have missed something.

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An Open Market

She thought a Friday morning would be perfect to run out to the farmer’s market. Nobody would be out because kids are all in school. Then she shook her head and corrected herself instantly.

“Yes, because when they aren’t in school the number one hang out for teenagers is the farmer’s market.”

After chiding herself through mockery she reexamined her reasoning. Friday morning all of the normal people will be at work. The rest she can just swiftly maneuver past, grab her things and go. The only types out on a Friday morning would be the elderly and the jobless. Neither are that adept at the kind of ninja-esque skills that she liked to think she possessed.
The only problem was when she woke up the next morning she opened one eye and looked at the alarm clock. It’s single eye with red pupils in the form of the numbers 6:45 glared back at her. She groaned and closed her eye and hit the button on the alarm to kindly give her peace for another few minutes. The next time she opened her eyes she rolled over to look at the clock and then leaped out of bed as there was a nine followed by a four followed by a seven stationed in the alarm clock’s eye. Her sleepy smack of the button misfired and she turned it off completely and now her entire plan was ruined and going to have to be improvised.

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How are you everywhere?

I want to kiss you.

I want to write to you.

I want to talk with you at every given moment.

Click.  Click.  Click.  Click.

I want to see your name everywhere.

I can hear you in every song.

But I can only find you for moments in a day and a few more in the dark.

This is very strange, but in a good way.

Where did you even come from?

This is all so weird.

How are you everywhere already?

How do you make me smile and hum songs and wonder what you’re doing?

You asked “why is this happening?”

I’m not so sure about that.

All I can say is that I’m enjoying it, and you.