Without Words

Ok, this is just a bit out of my comfort zone, but I’m gonna get over myself and pull on my big girl panties and post it anyway.  It’s another HH drabble from back in the day.  But there’s no shame in my game, because she still makes me feel this way, 8 years later.  This is the one I was talking about in the Words post.  I didn’t end up asking her if I could post it.  I’m just gonna hope that she won’t be mad that I wanted to tell the world what she does to me.  Ok, I’m gonna go hide now.

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I’ve just found the proper pen to convey what I need to say.  There’s just a certain something about the way you look at me just then.  A certain something that I cannot place, yet drives me mad.  My handwriting even feels sexier somehow, just thinking about it.  And you’re not even near but I can feel you.  I feel you melt the rest of the world away so quickly.  Your breath floods my senses.  They perceive nothing outside your body.  They have forgotten anything else exists at all.  And I love when your eyes devour me, from across the room.  Like the first night I wore that slinky blue thing, I was so much more nervous than I seemed.  But your eyes calmed me.  So intense.  I had to look away.  Then your shy and quiet grin, as if to ask, “For me?”  Your touch then, even through the silk, was electric.  It sent your current all through me.  The second you touch me, I want you.  And my body knows it.  My awareness of being watched lets me know that you notice.  You notice everything.  My breathing, my movements, how I hold you, how I grab you, how I dig my fingers in your back.  How could you not notice?  Then the torrential downpour of kisses, leaving me breathless and swimming in the puddle of myself.  My neck prickles with even your slightest breath.  And though I’d never say it, I love the torture of it.  To feel myself writhe to escape you and your grip tighten to entrap me further.  I could never stop you.  Or perhaps I just wouldn’t.  And I love when I feel you want me just as bad.  That my body is the only glove suitable for your lovely hand to wear.  Sometimes I see the look in your eyes that tells me you wait, simply to hear me ask and breathe “Please”.  The wicked grin that ensues is maddening.  I feed half off your actions and half off your reactions.  I cannot take my eyes off you.  I feel your hands on my legs, the back of my thighs, slowly.  As you take in the view, I wait for you.  Then there is the something.  The something that makes me mistake your name for God’s and I shake, hold you with all that I have left.  And your devilish smile, not letting me go.  I can’t even see your lips, but I know it’s there.  And the sweet kiss that comes after, as I hold your face, look into your eyes and tell you I love you, without words.

A little more leakage

Today I share 3 poems/writings from the very beginning of my relationship with HH.  I will only preface this by saying that HH and I had a tough beginning, as we started out as friends and were both with other people.  We made some stupid decisions back then, and hurt others and ourselves in the process.  I regret the hurt we caused, but I will never regret the outcome.

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1/20/02 – 4:26am

The light seems to have

    lost itself in you.

Your eyes,

    your hair,

        your smile.

It reflects off of everything

    and back to you.

It cannot escape your grasp.

    Like me,

       in a way.

I keep bouncing off,

    yet finding myself returning to you.

Like a boomerang,

    I throw myself away

       and return every time

    like I don’t know how

       to do anything else.

And I don’t know if I

    should,

        but I’m inexplicably drawn.

The light is definitely lost in you.

    Perhaps it is that light,

       in you,

           that I search for.

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I walked around in the supermarket,

    aimlessly,

        for an hour,

    wondering what you would want

         if I cooked you dinner,

    in our house,

        somewhere in the future.

Or if I wrote a song,

     what words you would

          want it to have.

I don’t know anything about you,

     but I know enough.

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11/15/02

You sleep here,

    cocooned in my bed,

       so peacefully

    as I watch you.

And I am content

     just to hear you breathe.

I want to kiss

    where your hair

       meets your neck

    but I do not.

I do not want to disturb you.

    My love.

Love is admiring from afar

    for now,

       knowing that when you wake,

     it will be in my arms.

Words

Ah, when I was young, words flowed out of me like water out of a faucet.  I had no choice.  They couldn’t be stopped.  And I drank them in just as voraciously.  Drank them to get drunk, intoxicated and tipsy off of their cadence.  I couldn’t get enough.  I had an intimate relationship with words.  Words were my lover, when I had none.  They were my venue to release emotion, when I lost and found loves along the way.  Getting the right words, having them feel right, was everything to me.  And as I’ve grown older and look at the world through my jaded, “adult” eyes, I notice that I don’t take the time to play with words anymore.  Yes, it’s true that you would be hard pressed to catch me withOUT a book in my bag.  But I commute, and since I cannot possibly force myself to sleep on my commute, I read.  So it’s just a form of entertainment.  I read the books to pass the time and that’s pretty much it.  I have literally finished one book, closed it and pulled out a new one and started it in the space of the same breath.  People on the train look at me like I’m crazy.

And so it’s been that I go through my day simply with the intention of getting through it.  I don’t pay attention.  I’m not looking for the right words.  I’m not doing anything that’s not exactly the same as what I did yesterday.  Until I came across these two paragraphs from Afterellen.com:

And you want to talk about terrifying? You want to talk about the scariest fucking thing anyone could ever say to you in your entire life? It’s not: I’m attracted to you. It’s not: I love you. The worst and best thing a person can ever do to you is say: The out loud dreams you dream — and the dreams you can’t even bring yourself to whisper — they can come true. You can make them come true. You’re good enough and you’re smart enough and you’re strong enough and I believe in you.

It’s not cool to dream. If you want to be cool, you’ve got to wrap everything in snark and sit around being ironic and clever and apathetic. You’ve got to mock the kind of people whose need to dream rivals their need to breathe. Because if you dream, with your voice especially, you’re going to fail. Not always, but that’s life. Everyone on top of the mountain has scars to spare. The only way to not fail is to not dream at all. And we’re so afraid of falling down in front of other people, that that’s exactly what we do.

And it was like someone had slapped me across the face, while simultaneously submerging my whole body into freezing water which had been electrified.  And I’m not even sure if it was the words themselves, or what they say or even what they were written about that affected me so.  They simply affected me.  Hard.

These words make me want to write again.  They make me want to stop and look around, and not just look, but SEE everything.  They make my teenage brain want to leak out again.  Because the first thing I did when I got home after reading that was to go to my den and pull out my old writing books.  And I pulled out one that I thought was blank, but it turns out it may just hold one of my best pieces of writing ever.  I’d really like to post it here, but I gotta run it by HH first, since it happens to outline somewhat of an intimate encounter early in our relationship.  I don’t think she’ll really care, but I’d just like to ask her first.  And then I have to deal with the fact that my mother will most likely read it, but I’ll have to get over that embarrassment on my own. 

So I’m going to attempt to reopen my eyes.  See life how I used to, before I sat at a desk all day long.  In the days when I could appreciate the way my hair felt on my shoulders after a shower.  When I had hair long enough to actually feel my shoulders at all!