Limit exposure, keep your hands clean, your incisions small, and your wounds covered. Rules of surgery. Or love.
“Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t find me attractive
Look me in the heart and tell me you won’t go
Look me in the eye and promise no love’s like our love
Look me in the heart and un break broken.”
-Where Does the Good Go
One weekend.
A bathtub and a bed.
Some books and some music.
Tea, coffee, croissants, and chocolate.
No sex.
Only love.
And it turns out we have lots to talk about.
And it turns out, I have many reasons to love him.
And it turns out, I love him a little more.
And as I walked home in the misty afternoon, I was left wondering a million why’s and how’s.
And by the time I walked into my apartment, it felt like I had walked into an empty space in my heart.
1 hour later and he felt so far away.
And it felt like a fist gripped my heart and I wanted to be holding his hand.
I wanted the sound of him breathing.
I wanted the smell of his skin.
I wanted more, more, more, more, more, more…..
…and I want to know if this is real.
Is this even possible?
You are 26 years old.
You live alone in a two-bedroom apartment in Shanghai.
You work 9-6 in an office that you commute 1 hour each way to.
You are in love.
And you believe that you have never been happier.
Mountains high and oceans wide.
More than I love chocolate. And it’s not even close.
More than all of the edges of dark chocolate brownies. Combined.
More than last week.
More than ice cream on my nose. And you know how much I love that.
I like salt more than I like you. And chances are, it’s not even close.
1. “Babe, I love you.” Whispered in my ear in the middle of night when he thought I was sleeping. He got up to go to the bathroom and he came back and held me close, and whispered that to me. With gravity, and all the weight of his love in those words. 2. “Love ya, babe.” As he was leaving that morning. Fleeting. Quick. A last goodbye. 3. “I love you.” Cuddling with me on top of the sheets. Right into my face. I couldn’t ignore it any longer. I asked him, “How much?” It’s not that I don’t feel the same way. I’ve been waiting for him to say those words so that I could say them too. I wanted to tell him last week…as I was sitting across from him during his birthday dinner and I realized the truth in that feeling. I just didn’t expect him to feel that way toward me quite yet. So I was taken by surprise by the confession. Do I love him? Yes. How do I know? It’s just a feeling I have. How much? Mountains high and oceans wide. and more everyday…
We sat in bed and read before going to bed.
And then we went to sleep.
And we woke up a hundred times in the middle of the night.
And shared secrets.
Desires.
Fantasies.
Dreams.
And I woke up one minute before the alarm.
And we had coffee.
We shared a muffin.
I wish all nights were full of so many whispers.
I wish all mornings were like this.
I wish my heater was broken all winter long.
verbal seduction.
morality and judgement are melting away.
he says things i have been longing to hear all my life.
I only have dirt haikus to give in return:
Small bites on my neck
lead to sighs and naughty words.
We should do this more.
Chocolate mousse with
“not enough staying power”
to lick off my skin.
Fishnets and high heels
bending over the bed’s edge
like a good girl should.
fuck you.
age is deceiving.
when you lied about your age and said you were only 29 (even though you were 39) you should have kept on going.
you’re 8.
at least 13 year olds are willing to take risks.
you are everything you hate about other people.
i’m glad i never let you destroy my hope in love.
in retrospect, i’m glad i only gave you time.
i could have given you my heart.
you could have even had my soul.
my love.
in fact, i define love as life without you to ruin it.
i was with you for 4 years and i can count on my hands the number of times you kissed me.
and fuck your “stuff”, your “things”, your “cars”…
at least my life is better than yours.
at least I have love or the hope of it.
at least i’m a better person.
at least my life has meaning.
at least i know how to be happy.
at least i know how to live with myself.
and when i look in the mirror, i like what i see.
at least i know what i want.
and yes, he’s better than you.
in every. single. fucking. way.
taller, smarter, bigger, better, sweeter, funnier, sexier, stronger, harder, -er, -er, -er….
and he doesn’t make me feel bad about who i am.
he makes me smile, laugh, moan, sigh, scream, cry out in limitless waves of pleasure.
you want to know more, asshole?
it was the color of his eyes. the deepness of blue, the darker edges, the flecks of green and aqua and silver in the center.
and the way he looked at me.
like he was falling. like he was watching the world being created.
it was the line of his brow, and how they knit together when he was thinking.
it was the flecks of blond on his eyelashes that would sometimes catch the light.
it was the way he twists his lips and presses them together when he’s not talking.
it was the fullness of those lips.
and the shape of his smile.
and how he would smile with no hesitation.
and also how he would manage the smallest of smiles, and it would show as a twitch on the left corner of his lips.
and how his smiles always start on the left.
and how that’s the side he has a deep dimple on.
it was how he told me he was a great kisser.
and how i wanted to know for myself.
it was that first kiss.
sitting on his couch, lights dimmed, music playing in the background.
and chocolate ice cream.
it was the way his kisses melted.
it was the warmness, softness, desire in his lips.
it was the perfect first kiss.
it was no hesitation, and no akwardness.
and how it gave me butterflies.
and how it still gives me butterflies.
it was the smoothness of his skin.
it was the color of his skin.
and how warm he always was.
it was the freckles on his cheeks.
it was the line of his nose and his profile against a taxi cab window.
it was relief that his ears don’t stick out.
it was the thickness of his hair.
it was the way it felt to run my fingers through it.
it was how much he cared about his hair.
and how he said he looked forward to his gray hairs so he could charge his clients more.
it was the tenor of his voice.
it was the sound of him laughing.
and how, if he laughs too hard, he snorts a little.
it was the gentleness in his words.
it was the cadance of his speech.
it was the way he looked me straight in the eye when he spoke to me.
it was how he never looked away even if he had to pause.
it was the deepness of his whispers.
it was the sound of my name coming from his lips.
and how it felt like he meant every word.
it was how he said i was the prettiest girl in Shanghai and it sounded believable.
it was feeding me chocolate for breakfast….in bed.
it was being able to laugh in the middle of sex.
it was how much fun we had between the sheets.
it was the comfortableness and excitement.
it was leaving the lights on but dimmed.
it was leaving music on but soft.
it was how strong he was.
and how tender he could be.
it was his attentiveness to every little moan.
it was the smell of his skin.
it was his dirty whispers.
it was his voice in the morning.
it was his arms pulling me closer.
it was being pinned down by the whole of him.
it was the way he would bite me.
it was his sensualness.
it was his intelligence.
it was his wit.
it was his experience.
and his wisdom.
it was because he loved to read.
it was because he liked to try new music.
it was because he would slow dance with me.
it was the color of his eyes.
it was the shape of his smile.
it was the scent of his skin.
blue, wide, warm.
it was finding my favorite things in him.
