My lover is sleeping, next to me, breathing, and I allow myself to write as I see his pristine, peaceful face. Such an innocent image, yet it scares the normal being to think what one is capable of. I sometimes stare at him wondering who the hell he is, what he is doing next to me, and the circumstances that have lead to me allowing him such a prolonged entry in my life. How I have made the gates wide open for him to enter, shutting out many others.
Why I feel this sense of unreality I do not know, why when I stare at him I am still not sure who he is. I have heard of the story of the husband, who after 50 or so years of marriage realized that he never really knew his wife. This is a fear for me, a real one, a real fear. I sometimes have to force myself to engage, to pour out my soul, because it is so important for me to be authentic. It is important for me to bare my soul, to crack my legs wide open, to let him inside my mind. Why I was cursed with such a brutal honesty, and would such a desire for brutal honesty, I do not know. I have often preferred people to be horribly direct to me. I’d rather have a truthful cactus than a flower dripping with honey, if you know what I mean.
He continues to snore and strangely enough, I like the sound. It reminds me of the purr of a whirring engine. It is a subtle sign of life that I like, a reminder that my lover is not miles and miles away, that he is right next to me, within reach. I can hug him, or a plant a kiss on his forehead. I can also take for granted the fact that he is right there, and push him away. All are expressions of fondness, if not love.
Thousands of verses of poetry might have been written after lovemaking, and thousands of verses of poetry could have been written if the artist lover had sat up to pour out his or her heart on a piece of paper after the “deed.” Lovemaking used to arouse a lot more feelings from me – not always positive. Fear, a desire to reject, resentment, anger, even regret. Yet now it is met with a type of relief, a comfort, a familiarity, a closeness, a feeling of something has been checked of the list and accomplished. It has to do with who is sleeping next to me. My lover, whom I have known for a year. The longest time I have been sleeping with just one person. Sex is part of the whole deal, almost instinctive, always necessary (at least for me). I know that he will be there the next day. I know that he loves me for who I am and not just because I can satisfy him sexually. This is where the comfort is derived from.
The snoring is more faint now, perhaps he heard my fingers over the keyboard. I look at him and he looks like an infant, and I feel like a lover and mother. I have to let him continue sleeping. I will push this emotional masturbation to a close, and perhaps enjoy a more physical type of pleasure.
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