(no subject)
to try and describe the transition i've made, from weak little girl to indulgent, deviant woman, is difficult and erotic and sudden and heart-stopping. to look back at the fall months and remember the pain that crippled me and the incessant raging sorrow i fell in love with makes me cringe with repulsion and regret. if i could shake myself sane, slap the sadness out of my face and realize once again that i was still alive and my pulse was still ticking, i would. i made myself physically and mentally ill over someone who wasn't worth my time, who loved only himself and will never learn to truly live. i was a fool, and perhaps still am a fool, but i am yet a happy fool.
nino was once just a name with a face, an acquaintance to explore and a friend to be made. i thought nothing of his interest in me, as i was too busy licking my wounds. the depths of the letters he wrote me brought me back to a quiet wonder, reminding me that there was so much to think about, to dream of, to learn and to live for. the intensity of the human connection, the ceaseless wonder that is the world, and the passion of the human spirit, as cliche as it sounds, revived a curiosity that was becoming numb and cold under the weight of a broken heart. love letters and cute convsations led us to really get to know each other. i was looking for someone to confide in, to comfort me, to help me realize who i was after i had forgotten myself for so long. he gave me blunt honesty, solace, peace and curiosity. he healed my hurt faster than i could have done myself. it was this sudden realization that there are so many people out there more deserving of my affection and adoration that gave me strength.
it wasn't long before we found ourselves in one another; we kind of sculpted a harmonious balance. there was just enough tension, opposition, agreement, disagreement, honesty, passion, sensuality, aggression and tranquility. we could talk about anything, everything, all hours of the night (which happened to my ebullience on several occasions).
he still makes me shy when i see him again after a period of separation. i have trouble looking into his eyes and holding a glance - he makes me that weak. and then there are times when i can stare long and hard, burning into his eyes, challenging him and drawing on his strength.
every now and then i am overcome with insecurity in his absence; i worry if i said or did stupid or silly things i should regret. (i can recall a similar entry months ago wondering if i had acted like too big an ass around Markus.) yet again the cycle continues, but perhaps for the better. i wonder if he is tiring of me, becoming bored and finding novelty in my company. i worry about silly things that girls worry about - if i looked bad, or fat, or was too immature, or too loud, or too silly. i worry, and i worry, and then i am comforted to know that even if all of these things happened, they don't matter. they never did, and probably never will.
he makes me warm and sexual when i am brought to tender thoughts of intimacy; he makes me blush with his honest, open compliments and admirations. he takes my breath and gives me courage; he makes me dizzy, he makes me happy, he makes me feel real.
he left for vacation this morning, and i will not be seeing him for a full week. a short amount of time in the long run, but an eternity in the heart of a lover. poetic, pathetic, you name it you got it. the moment we part is the moment i begin to miss him.
i was scared, and i still am. he is terrified of his own passion at times, understandably so. to jump headfirst into so much emotion is often dangerous, and i fear that such a vicious fire is doomed to extinguish as a short-lived spark. only time will tell, and to second-guess myself is to set in place the possibility of endless self-fulfilling prophecies.
i could let go and let flow the prose of my soul, and ramble redundant rhymes of longing and lust, of passion and peace, but i will let time fill in these blanks.
i am learning.
nino was once just a name with a face, an acquaintance to explore and a friend to be made. i thought nothing of his interest in me, as i was too busy licking my wounds. the depths of the letters he wrote me brought me back to a quiet wonder, reminding me that there was so much to think about, to dream of, to learn and to live for. the intensity of the human connection, the ceaseless wonder that is the world, and the passion of the human spirit, as cliche as it sounds, revived a curiosity that was becoming numb and cold under the weight of a broken heart. love letters and cute convsations led us to really get to know each other. i was looking for someone to confide in, to comfort me, to help me realize who i was after i had forgotten myself for so long. he gave me blunt honesty, solace, peace and curiosity. he healed my hurt faster than i could have done myself. it was this sudden realization that there are so many people out there more deserving of my affection and adoration that gave me strength.
it wasn't long before we found ourselves in one another; we kind of sculpted a harmonious balance. there was just enough tension, opposition, agreement, disagreement, honesty, passion, sensuality, aggression and tranquility. we could talk about anything, everything, all hours of the night (which happened to my ebullience on several occasions).
he still makes me shy when i see him again after a period of separation. i have trouble looking into his eyes and holding a glance - he makes me that weak. and then there are times when i can stare long and hard, burning into his eyes, challenging him and drawing on his strength.
every now and then i am overcome with insecurity in his absence; i worry if i said or did stupid or silly things i should regret. (i can recall a similar entry months ago wondering if i had acted like too big an ass around Markus.) yet again the cycle continues, but perhaps for the better. i wonder if he is tiring of me, becoming bored and finding novelty in my company. i worry about silly things that girls worry about - if i looked bad, or fat, or was too immature, or too loud, or too silly. i worry, and i worry, and then i am comforted to know that even if all of these things happened, they don't matter. they never did, and probably never will.
he makes me warm and sexual when i am brought to tender thoughts of intimacy; he makes me blush with his honest, open compliments and admirations. he takes my breath and gives me courage; he makes me dizzy, he makes me happy, he makes me feel real.
he left for vacation this morning, and i will not be seeing him for a full week. a short amount of time in the long run, but an eternity in the heart of a lover. poetic, pathetic, you name it you got it. the moment we part is the moment i begin to miss him.
i was scared, and i still am. he is terrified of his own passion at times, understandably so. to jump headfirst into so much emotion is often dangerous, and i fear that such a vicious fire is doomed to extinguish as a short-lived spark. only time will tell, and to second-guess myself is to set in place the possibility of endless self-fulfilling prophecies.
i could let go and let flow the prose of my soul, and ramble redundant rhymes of longing and lust, of passion and peace, but i will let time fill in these blanks.
i am learning.