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Love is never a matter of property, contrary to popular belief. I am no one's "boyfriend", she is no ones "girlfriend", because this implies some sort of ownership, though we both use the terms for the sheer convienence of it. ask yourself: when was the last time you used this medium without the burden of predicting your kindreds' responses? have you ever? i know i cant recall a time myself. we all comment-whore if we make public our entries, and a few of us get upset when no one compliments something we may have found particularly witty. cant help it. so it goes, and so on.
im not much one for the future. call me a buddhist. hesse does. i just cant help but think ahead; its in my nature. i see cherry blossums, martial arts, blonde hair died pink and dreaded. i hear crossing tunes on busy streets, the constant onslaught of gibberish i am slowly learning, my throatmuscles vibrating as i'm franticly warning her to not leave her chopsticks straight up in her rice, to never entirely finish a rum and coke unless she wants more poured automatically. i feel the smooth skin of several at once before waking to find the unyeilding flesh of the willing and sighing in relief, the sudden change in tempature as i walk into the shadow of a mountain i've longed to scale since childhood, the back of my instructors fist to my jaw.
its not that shes mine, its the comfort in knowing shes there for the taking, or the giving, or both, or niether. she lets me rant, listens as intentively as anyone could expect, and tries her best not to patronize my naive ass. once a week we agree on sometime to listen to. we share stories of our random sexual encounters and try out a few new things our other partners taught us. i show her songs, she shows me colorful sweaters and head sheathes. we spend the entire weekend either reading or making love. we invite the fathers of our new friends onto the base to let them have their way with a golf course, they offer us their eternal souls. we get eyeball fucked by schoolgirls in yellow track uniforms. i wash my hands a dozen times a day and they still smell like latex. i feel a little taller everywhere i go. i massage and sing her to sleep, she kisses me awake. some days we marathon, some we fuck like crazed ferrets when we're already late. we stay up all night discussing difficult subjects in our second tongue. i show her how to tie a tourniquet. we get colds at exactly the same time. we see dir en grey live and i shit my pants at the pure awesomeness of the sound, she shits hers at the mindnumbing visuals. love letters can be found hidden in random spots around our place like an erotic easter egg hunt. we laugh at our terrible memories and messy bedroom.
when i return from a certain windy midwest metropolis, we make up for months of lost time within a few hours.
im not much one for the future. call me a buddhist. hesse does. i just cant help but think ahead; its in my nature. i see cherry blossums, martial arts, blonde hair died pink and dreaded. i hear crossing tunes on busy streets, the constant onslaught of gibberish i am slowly learning, my throatmuscles vibrating as i'm franticly warning her to not leave her chopsticks straight up in her rice, to never entirely finish a rum and coke unless she wants more poured automatically. i feel the smooth skin of several at once before waking to find the unyeilding flesh of the willing and sighing in relief, the sudden change in tempature as i walk into the shadow of a mountain i've longed to scale since childhood, the back of my instructors fist to my jaw.
its not that shes mine, its the comfort in knowing shes there for the taking, or the giving, or both, or niether. she lets me rant, listens as intentively as anyone could expect, and tries her best not to patronize my naive ass. once a week we agree on sometime to listen to. we share stories of our random sexual encounters and try out a few new things our other partners taught us. i show her songs, she shows me colorful sweaters and head sheathes. we spend the entire weekend either reading or making love. we invite the fathers of our new friends onto the base to let them have their way with a golf course, they offer us their eternal souls. we get eyeball fucked by schoolgirls in yellow track uniforms. i wash my hands a dozen times a day and they still smell like latex. i feel a little taller everywhere i go. i massage and sing her to sleep, she kisses me awake. some days we marathon, some we fuck like crazed ferrets when we're already late. we stay up all night discussing difficult subjects in our second tongue. i show her how to tie a tourniquet. we get colds at exactly the same time. we see dir en grey live and i shit my pants at the pure awesomeness of the sound, she shits hers at the mindnumbing visuals. love letters can be found hidden in random spots around our place like an erotic easter egg hunt. we laugh at our terrible memories and messy bedroom.
when i return from a certain windy midwest metropolis, we make up for months of lost time within a few hours.