closing in fast on another [month]
dear joe,
i am thinking of you - as per usual - and i have come to several realizations [i stray from the word conclusion as there is no room for finality between us]. i must preface this narration of self-discovery with my own embittered revelation: my body has become a machine in the absence of my mental stability. i am, as you know, particularly senstive and quick to bruise; in response to abuse, i become vacant and achieve a predictable distance from emotion and affection.
that said, it is fair to tell you that the words exchanged between us as of late have been vapid and lackadaisical, if not insincere. do not doubt or find redundance in our oft-murmured i love yous - they are never a gesture of obligation or appeasement and are always uttered with the utmost honesty and tenderness of heart. never worry for my waning attraction or any conceivable disloyalty - i am sooner to burn for you than to coexist in sorrow, having betrayed you in such a way. it is simply that ardent words and mechanical jaws do not share this symbiosis - they are as unnatural as the clashing of misdirected gears.
oh, i love you, i do, but there is also the severity of need [we are more than just hearts and flowers, you know]. this is - this, and language! - poetic debauchery. this desire to be with you [as i have been, for the last four days] is all-consuming, yet it accompanies a less favorable feeling of jaded disdain. i am feeling these effects of growing up as though i had never matured before. you once, in mild accusation, insisted i was too focused on the process of growing up; it is that need for independence, that vocalization of desire that motivates these tired bones to press further. am i pushing truth away? i don't want to grow up. it is this place of occupation and residence in conjunction with this state of body, and of mind. you are my infrastructure - you are those bridges we burn and those paths with pave and those pillars that exist to give us balance and support.
i told you that i would wait for you and i meant that wholeheartedly, but - would you ask me to? perhaps i am trying to be unjustly strong, giving this permissive air against my inability to sustain; i look no farther than your happiness, yet i fear that losing you would kill me. that letting you go would never warrant your promised return. there were solitary moments in our relationship where i would wonder, very seriously, if i could wake up next to you every morning for the rest of my life without fear of tediousness or strayed affection. i wondered if there was something i would lack. it has eased with the notion that i could never share what we have with anyone else ; it is as though the imprint of your hands can never be written over. and, to be raw with you, the thought of anyone else writhing beneath you, admiring your face as it melts when you come, makes me restless and unwell. it is so typcail [and hurtful, to me] of others to insist that committment exceeds the capacity of age; that "exploration" [or figurative promiscuity] is somehow healthier and more openly embraced than the sanctity of committment. feeling you tighten your grip around that most sacred finger of that most sacred hand, telling me you are going to replace my ring with your own, felt right.
i love you, you know. you are going to change the world with the softness of your philosophical mindand the fervor of your poetic spirit. i suppose my fiercest of epiphanies lies in my admiration of you; there is this deep reverence for your preservation of psyche and stability, a foundation which marks the basis of our torrid love affair [oh, le drama!]. i could never love another you, a contrived version of your psychological mechanisms and your tender, structured hands. i know that you have suffered maltreatment and misuse; your bones still echo with this knowledge, and your eyes still crease with this concern. the world will praise you in later years; you will find purpose, and absolute truth. if you rationalize half as well as you make love [and we both know that you do], there will be little room left for mystery. we will, together, retain this wisdom you seek.
i am sorry that today [and yesterday, in part], i treated you with harsh, unfair words and antisocial behaviorisms. i am sorry that i am somehow capable of being so cold and incalcuable after being so arduous and passionate on the bedroom floor [and in the grand scheme of our communions: the bed, the sofa, the recliner, the high bar, the bathroom floor, the guest bed, the shower, the playground, etc.], or of being so volatile in the presence of he whom i love most. joe, i adore you in my most genuine voice, and i hope that the weekend we have spent together proves it... for i know all too well the tightening of the throat and chest as you climb out my window and look back once as you lock the gate behind you. it is so natural and life-affirming to be near you that it is desolate in your absence and the lack of your arms.
you are cold and impatient, now. i will leave you here knowing that i meant nothing of the hurtful things i said, and all of the more beautiful. you are smiling at me now, in bed, aware that i am writing in your journal and have been for the last hour, and it is time i tend to you. i meant it when i said: i have never had thoughts of leaving you. and, undoubtedly, i never will.
i love you joe delmar cobler. let's never lose sight of this.
xoxo,
nicole.
i am thinking of you - as per usual - and i have come to several realizations [i stray from the word conclusion as there is no room for finality between us]. i must preface this narration of self-discovery with my own embittered revelation: my body has become a machine in the absence of my mental stability. i am, as you know, particularly senstive and quick to bruise; in response to abuse, i become vacant and achieve a predictable distance from emotion and affection.
that said, it is fair to tell you that the words exchanged between us as of late have been vapid and lackadaisical, if not insincere. do not doubt or find redundance in our oft-murmured i love yous - they are never a gesture of obligation or appeasement and are always uttered with the utmost honesty and tenderness of heart. never worry for my waning attraction or any conceivable disloyalty - i am sooner to burn for you than to coexist in sorrow, having betrayed you in such a way. it is simply that ardent words and mechanical jaws do not share this symbiosis - they are as unnatural as the clashing of misdirected gears.
oh, i love you, i do, but there is also the severity of need [we are more than just hearts and flowers, you know]. this is - this, and language! - poetic debauchery. this desire to be with you [as i have been, for the last four days] is all-consuming, yet it accompanies a less favorable feeling of jaded disdain. i am feeling these effects of growing up as though i had never matured before. you once, in mild accusation, insisted i was too focused on the process of growing up; it is that need for independence, that vocalization of desire that motivates these tired bones to press further. am i pushing truth away? i don't want to grow up. it is this place of occupation and residence in conjunction with this state of body, and of mind. you are my infrastructure - you are those bridges we burn and those paths with pave and those pillars that exist to give us balance and support.
i told you that i would wait for you and i meant that wholeheartedly, but - would you ask me to? perhaps i am trying to be unjustly strong, giving this permissive air against my inability to sustain; i look no farther than your happiness, yet i fear that losing you would kill me. that letting you go would never warrant your promised return. there were solitary moments in our relationship where i would wonder, very seriously, if i could wake up next to you every morning for the rest of my life without fear of tediousness or strayed affection. i wondered if there was something i would lack. it has eased with the notion that i could never share what we have with anyone else ; it is as though the imprint of your hands can never be written over. and, to be raw with you, the thought of anyone else writhing beneath you, admiring your face as it melts when you come, makes me restless and unwell. it is so typcail [and hurtful, to me] of others to insist that committment exceeds the capacity of age; that "exploration" [or figurative promiscuity] is somehow healthier and more openly embraced than the sanctity of committment. feeling you tighten your grip around that most sacred finger of that most sacred hand, telling me you are going to replace my ring with your own, felt right.
i love you, you know. you are going to change the world with the softness of your philosophical mindand the fervor of your poetic spirit. i suppose my fiercest of epiphanies lies in my admiration of you; there is this deep reverence for your preservation of psyche and stability, a foundation which marks the basis of our torrid love affair [oh, le drama!]. i could never love another you, a contrived version of your psychological mechanisms and your tender, structured hands. i know that you have suffered maltreatment and misuse; your bones still echo with this knowledge, and your eyes still crease with this concern. the world will praise you in later years; you will find purpose, and absolute truth. if you rationalize half as well as you make love [and we both know that you do], there will be little room left for mystery. we will, together, retain this wisdom you seek.
i am sorry that today [and yesterday, in part], i treated you with harsh, unfair words and antisocial behaviorisms. i am sorry that i am somehow capable of being so cold and incalcuable after being so arduous and passionate on the bedroom floor [and in the grand scheme of our communions: the bed, the sofa, the recliner, the high bar, the bathroom floor, the guest bed, the shower, the playground, etc.], or of being so volatile in the presence of he whom i love most. joe, i adore you in my most genuine voice, and i hope that the weekend we have spent together proves it... for i know all too well the tightening of the throat and chest as you climb out my window and look back once as you lock the gate behind you. it is so natural and life-affirming to be near you that it is desolate in your absence and the lack of your arms.
you are cold and impatient, now. i will leave you here knowing that i meant nothing of the hurtful things i said, and all of the more beautiful. you are smiling at me now, in bed, aware that i am writing in your journal and have been for the last hour, and it is time i tend to you. i meant it when i said: i have never had thoughts of leaving you. and, undoubtedly, i never will.
i love you joe delmar cobler. let's never lose sight of this.
xoxo,
nicole.