Your Woman

I can't believe I'm still in love with him.... I have been dreaming, thinking, hell craving a chance to just say all types of things to him....and even though I will be getting the chance to later this month, I don't think I can even get out 10% of how I feel about us. How unfair. I refuse to be a harlot. To throw caution and the foundation I've recently built to the wind just because your feet are finally planted on the ground. Why is this happening? For a short while I thought it was a gift, but I'm starting to believe it is a test. To see how faithful I can be. To see if I can move past the world that is the past into the present and future.

I think I'm over thinking it (definitely). I think I'm also setting myself up for failure. But why? why do I want things to fall apart? I know what's good for me, but I also know what I personally would like. Too often are those two things in contrast of each other.

I definitely need to have a conversation with a few different parties, ie all of the parties involved. Not necessarily together. Plenty of my friends roll their eyes at me now. They are tired of hearing my story. I guess it could get very annoying after such a long time. But I feel like, if my friends had this issue, they would understand why its such a long winded problem. Why It's so hard to throw away 6 long years of waiting, longing, and wanting. And even if they did understand. They will never feel the way I feel, just like I can never feel the way they feel. I know my actions and feelings are being judged. I don't care to hear the many opinions of those who can't get the simple parts of their lifes together. Though, those seem to be the ones with the most knowledge on the subject....

I will be a perfect host for him. I managed to set up two friends simultaneously visiting over the weekend, that way I will be too busy to sit down and sin. Though... three days alone with someone is more than enough time to become a different person.

I pray every night that things can be resolved and I can move on to bigger and better things. I know I will eventually...just not in an easy going sort of way. Everything happens in a kind of difficult sort of way. In a way I'd rather not deal with. Someone always gets hurt.

The Warming Of Night

I want him. I want him to make love to me. I've never felt the burn that is sin and desire like I have for him. He haunts my ever wakening, my slumber too. I find lips pursed, breast tender, and body, alert and in waiting. The thought of his touch arouses me. And his words; paradise. What have I done to deserve such temptation, such beguile and uninhibited desire. Want. Need. I need to feel him. In so many more ways then sexual. I need him to slide his hands beneath my dress, for him to feel the heat of my thigh, the wanting. I need him to press himself against me and breath-- heavily, slowly on the nape of my neck. I want to feel his body --his warmth. I want to feel him. His entirety, his soul.

But maybe She is right. Maybe I am in love with the idea, more than the man. Can you imagine? So many years. So many desires. So much waiting. Can you imagine What would happen if I gave him that keys? If I closed my eyes and let him drive. All he needs is an okay, a signal, a sign. All he needs is for me to let him come into me, In every way a man, can come into a woman. In parts, in whole. In spirit and in mind. All that is stopping him is me. And I want him so badly. Why do I stop him?

Have I forgotten the years past? The ones involving dangerously alluring eyes and lustful thoughts. His words. I dare not speak what my tongue did seek in fear of the retribution that would follow.....And he-- I don't deserve him. He that is noble to me, and my love. But... the other, his hands are strong and rough from his trade, from his manhood. And I, as soft as a lily floats, lay, as always, in open and waiting for a time where that heat-- that fire-- that passion will melt all walls between us and create, bore, that of what a phoenix is made. That scorching of inhibition.

My only regret is not tempting him as he does me. Giving him my full attention, ruining any of his efforts to be good, to be wholesome, to be pure. That and my secret desire, my deliciously private.... one, that would involve, my complete destruction, his complete being. My full attention, his absolute enduring....my God and my everything. His eyes and words and mouth and touch....stalking my every waking, yet desolate hours.

I am a fool for him; and forever will be.  

Was There Ever?

I don't think I understand completely the magnitude of all of my actions. I often find myself wanting to "be in the know" almost all the time only to cringe at the knowledge I've gained. Such is the way of life. I had a dream where the sky turned to night and the stars began to swirl. I think it was the end of the world or something, but it ended with me feeling so much comfort from the thought of a fresh start, a new beginning-- even if I wasn't a part of it.

That's a sick thought for most. But I don't really think so. I think that's a noble one. To want to start over again from scratch. Can you imagine what the world would be like? If every couple of hundred of years everything just restarted? kind of like a giant worldwide reincarnation. What if that's what keeps happening: a mass reboot of the earth to try and get it right before reaching nirvana. My goodness, with thoughts like this, I could be the next L. Ron Hubbard (with better fashion sense, even for me).

I think it is more of me wanting to believe that we, humanity, can have a fresh start. Life would be so much easier with a restart button. or better yet a strategy guide-- walk through if you will. But life isn't a video game. Yet....

I want to be where he is. He as in that timeless beauty that is God; that amazing champion of all that is pure and good in this world. I want to be that pure. I want to be that flawless. I want to have that vision, see clearly what was and is and will be. I want to find that nirvana within myself, that plane of complexity that has formed up until the dying days of earth causes a rejuvenation of its surfaces and ocean ways.

Peace of mind. Mind at peace.

Turning of Tides...and Turds

I decided, to make it a blog entry lol.

Ever since I started working for CBS I really haven't had much time to do anything else. It's not that CBS takes up all of my time, it's literally that I now have three jobs and spend most of my time working, traveling, or hanging. That also means, I spend less time on Facebook (an added bonus). 

Ah yes, Facebook. The infinite causer of so many issues. One in particular used to make me cringe. My Ex-boyfriend enjoys liking everything I write on his sister's wall, one of those sad "hey I'm still here" attempts I've gotten so used to (I have another Ex who calls me at 3 in the morning to profess his uh, stupidity to me at least twice a year). What can I say, I sure can pick them. But for whatever reason, regardless of the space I give, I don't like anything he likes, I don't comment on anything he comments on, he still thinks it's okay to add his two cents to everything I say.

So I write all this to say...I am starting to feel...really sorry for him. I think the song that fits pretty well would be an Amy Winehouse tune, Stronger Than Me. I mean, the age difference, the distance, the whole reason we broke up...why are you still Facebook waring me? Honestly I don't know what I should do. Should I continue to comment on the thread? I don't want him to think I'm okay with chatting with him via the internet. I mean he left me for a woman he's not even with anymore... leaving her for someone else doesn't make us cool.

I know I over analyze EVERYTHING. But I just think...that leaving me alone, especially after the way he treated me, would be the manly thing to do--hell, the mature thing to do. Right?

I just shake my head. I feel like he's in a really sad position. He's done little if anything since I left Georgia. Not much has changed. I feel like I've gained so much knowledge and wealth since I moved. But what was I expecting.

I wrote all of this because, I'm tired. I'm tired of trying to be cordial, and forgiving. I'm tired of always watching my step to preserve a path only for those around me to muddle about and ruin my work. But more so, I'm tired of holding on to so much scar tissue. I have so much going for me. I have a job working for one of the networks, I have a lovely boyfriend; I live in Freaking New York City.... I've played with the idea of getting off of Facebook, nothing but a bunch of connections to either people I don't know or people I'm not really friends with, because if I was, we would talk or text. I post to let people know I am still here. To make my father laugh, to make myself laugh, to make my friends smile and repost. Not to tip toe around one of my best friend's page because I don't want to deal with her brother, my Ex.

*big shrug* but what would you do without me, and I without the outlet. Last time I went home to Georgia, I told someone so important to me, I would eventually let our friendship go, and it seems he let it go as soon as I came back North. maybe he couldn't handle it. It was my first attempt at controlling a relationship, something I often have so little control over. So, once more, I'm going to attempt to let a relationship go. I've been trying to let it go for years now. But now I realize, I've been holding on to it for the same amount of time.

I won't answer back, I'll continue to do what I've already been doing: glossing over his comments, thinking of good times, and as fucked up as it may seem, genuinely wishing him nothing but love and happiness.  Because God knows, he needs it so much more than me.

AHHH!!--- a box of crackers just fell over in my room on it's own 9_9'. mini heart attack. Guess that's my cue to stop typing and go to bed. Gotta take a long walk in the morning. 

Laters

First Kiss

I was watching Mad Men on Netflix tonight. I had gotten to the episode where Betty explains to her daughter Sally that "you don't kiss boys, boys kiss you." and that the first kiss is the most amazing kiss you will ever have.

I began thinking about my first kiss, but not the very first one. That one was all wrong....I mean my recent first kiss (Betty says you have many first kisses ie with different people). My current boyfriend and I are headed towards 6 months of being in a relationship, and even though that isn't exactly the longest time frame in the world, I began reminiscing about that first kiss we shared.

When I say he was as smooth as butter...oh man. Maybe I had one too many drinks, but I stood outside with him and a group of smokers on a cold Halloween night and one by one the group dissipated until it was just me and him. I don't exactly know why I stood out there, I don't smoke and often times hate the very smell of it, but I remember watching him blow little puffs of beautiful smoke in the air dancing slowly with my breath and there was something so very sexy about it.

when it was just us two he asked me about a comment I said earlier, "I only attract short guys." He had thought I said I only 'date' short guys. "No," I answered. "I said I usually attract short men. I have no problem dating guys who are taller than me." He followed up with, "That's good to know." and stepped closer to me; and I--for almost the first time in my life-- looked up into a man's eyes while he wooed me his words and smile. It was the strangest thing. I couldn't help but smile at his response. He was flirting with me, and I found it increasingly hard not to kiss him. But I didn't. I think I bit my lip, batted my eyes, and said something cute to supersede the feeling.

He leaned forward and kissed me, In front of my job, in the dark; in the cold air of October. Nothing about the kiss was cold. I felt warm all over. It wasn't a sloppy or dirty kiss. It was light and just like out of the movies. And afterwards I looked up at him and kissed him right back.

When I think about our first kiss I smile. He is a good man and an amazing kisser. When I think back to that night so many things could have happened to change the outcome of our relationship, but they didn't.

Betty was right. there is something so amazing about that first kiss. Supposedly every other kiss that follows is only a shadow of the original you are trying to replicate. And maybe she's right (I know, the fictional television character). All I know is, I question every decision and step I make; I self sabotage, and I often doubt the validity of my relationships. I don't want to do that with him. I want to believe that all it took was that flicker of the eye caught that of another and a ball began to roll even before we realized it.

What I'm saying is, I want this to work. I want to be happy with him. And I think I can. I really don't want to doubt these type of things anymore. And I'm trying not to.

Scrapes From My Youth

Sitting in my bed I happened upon an old childhood scar I got while doing some really daredevil things. I remember vividly my brother, some other kid, and myself riding our bikes at high speeds down the hill which was our street, making a sharp right turn into our driveway and plowing straight into the back yard, which was covered in dead leaves and surrounded by trees. The leave made steering near impossible and their was a fun air that came with the loss of control until the bike with us on it gave and we slid the rest of the way beside the bikes. We tried to stabilize ourselves to see how long one could before we inevitably it the ground.  We did it three times, realizing by the second time of how dangerous it was. "Once more than we have to stop." And once more we did it and the last time I wiped out the worst of all of the times; and I remember standing up and looking down and their being a giant quarter shaped hole in my jeans. "woooaaahh." was all that escaped me. It didn't take a rocket scientist to realize that the bike handle--which was missing the rubber grip on it's end-- had stabbed me on my way down. Still, after a split second of shock and amazement, we  high-fived and laughs about how I could have died.

It wasn't until I made it into the house that I realized I was bleeding. As with other stupid things I did in my childhood I didn't come right out and tell my parents. You see, the child mind is quite the interesting thing. You don't worry about possible infection or tetanus or death. No, you think about that lecture and/or spanking you're gonna get for tearing a pair of perfectly good jeans. I can't remember the story after that. I'm sure my parents had to have found out from me limping or even worse an article of clothing with a giant bloody hole in it inside of the kitchen trash can. What I do know is I have a story for the mark it left. For years It was very visible and I got used to it. Then it just became background. A slightly darker splotched that stretched as I grew older into nothing but a passing memory. I probably have at least five or six more stories like this one. A story of how I did something or something happened to me, and either I was amazed at the awesomeness of it all, or ruined by it. Most of my scars hurt and I cried about them. But a few of the stories, well, are just so amazingly cool, The tomboy in me is thinking, "Wicked!"

I wonder if that is life.

A living breathing thing made up of little marks and scratches to deep puncture wounds and stitches; things that negatively affect us.... Are their any positive marks?

Yes, we just over look them...I am covered with beauty marks. Little cute dots that formed over the years. One of them is near a spot that my dad has a little dot too, on our hands. I don't remember the exact story about how they formed or when. It happened over such a long period of time...for the most part you usually just suddenly noticed it.  However, I do remember not having them, then having them.  I feel that happy memories are like that as well.

Maybe it's just me, but I tend to dwell on the sad things more. Remember really terrible things, little emotional scars... But I also know their are beauty marks mixed in there.

I don't know, I just want to get to a place in my life, where I am one with the world. Nirvana. I want to see all the little beauty marks and smile, regardless of how many scars I have. I want to get to a point where my focus is no longer on the dark blotches on my knees from tripping while running on pavement. No, I want to be able to look pass them, and see that little dot on my nose and know that the world is beautiful, that I am beautiful, and it will all be okay.

Passing Thoughts

I find it odd how men are. how fleetingly they approach a subject they know nothing about. Perhaps it stems from the belief of entitlement. Either way, I find it so strange to me when a man is flawed in his words because of the pure hypocrisy of it all. I want to believe that I am just being bothered by the words of an egotistical zealot, one who believes he's achieved all he could hope for with hard work and a smile. But I know better. I know him inside out and I know that he, as all of us, are flawed when it comes to the temptation of the flesh. To see his words make me twinge with a bit of anger at how easily he can type such a mess. But then I remember, man is sensitive, and dim-witted. Not in the sense of intelligence but in grace and virtue. A master of the puppetry arts. but a real dummy when it comes to the soul. I wonder if he will ever come across this and know exactly what I mean when I say, for fuck sake. grow a pair.

I can only hope so.