Meet Me
The woman (her name is Lydia according to her sign off) next to me at the moment is writing the most romantic, erotic e-mail I've seen in a long time. Yes, I'm doing the nosey spying thing (and I always hate it when others do it to me). I just caught a few words and I instantly wished I could read it. She seems in her fourties and I wonder if there's wisdom in that personal e-mail that could benefit the rest of the filles de l'amour. I mean, we are many, why not share personal wisdom versus trying to find it in People magazine, horoscopes and Dr. fucking Phil. There are answers right next to me and I can't read them due to right to privacy. Fair enough, I suppose. "Ultimately, I want so bad to be wrong about you." That's fucking poetry right next to me.
I swear I feel her emotions emanating off of her body and onto this screen. I want to feel more. I want to feel love and desire rolling off of me to the point where I'll go crazy with confused ecstasy.
Sometimes I feel that but after that stupid fight last night, I wonder if Josh is purposely holding back. Understandable, I betrayed him, he's naturally hesitant anyways and he has his defences up on most occasions. But still, I want it. I may have gone materialistic to stay in the 'real world' but I'm naturally spacy and contemplative, naturally not-all-there. And I want those surreal feelings more than Tiffany's diamonds. More than Venice. More than this warm, dry place to type. I just want to feel all that ether that surrounds us inside of me.
"I wanted to be with you 25 years ago and I want to be with you now." I want that too, dear woman next to me. I want that in my life, down the road and across my lifespan.
I have no message in this, if you find one then it's your own thing. The only thing between these lines is my fucking longing. No metaphors, no ultimatums, no hidden tips no nothing but what's comming from my half conciousness. I am not all here right now, I am beyond. I am in what I wrote above. I'll see you in Venice, darling.
I swear I feel her emotions emanating off of her body and onto this screen. I want to feel more. I want to feel love and desire rolling off of me to the point where I'll go crazy with confused ecstasy.
Sometimes I feel that but after that stupid fight last night, I wonder if Josh is purposely holding back. Understandable, I betrayed him, he's naturally hesitant anyways and he has his defences up on most occasions. But still, I want it. I may have gone materialistic to stay in the 'real world' but I'm naturally spacy and contemplative, naturally not-all-there. And I want those surreal feelings more than Tiffany's diamonds. More than Venice. More than this warm, dry place to type. I just want to feel all that ether that surrounds us inside of me.
"I wanted to be with you 25 years ago and I want to be with you now." I want that too, dear woman next to me. I want that in my life, down the road and across my lifespan.
I have no message in this, if you find one then it's your own thing. The only thing between these lines is my fucking longing. No metaphors, no ultimatums, no hidden tips no nothing but what's comming from my half conciousness. I am not all here right now, I am beyond. I am in what I wrote above. I'll see you in Venice, darling.