(no subject)
Sep. 26th, 2001 02:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
raybearDear diary,
Yesterday I succesfully used the word "cuckold" in a sentence.
Today I took my medication.
Tomorrow....could be anything.
Of course she would fall in love with you. Why wouldn't she? It was nothing for me either.
What do you mean to me?
Words are easy when playing the part of a hopeless romantic. And it's easier for me to describe a dynamic that I don't currently have but hope to achieve.
But then I actually have something. "Something" sounds so small and insignificant. But this something occupies over half of my thoughts. Half of my feelings. My entire night of sleeping. It's not insignificant.
I just to know what it is. Exactly.
But it affects me deeply. It pulls me in unexpected directions, but also anchors me. A starting point. A focal point?
You say you like how my skin smells when I'm sleeping.
How can I compete with that?
I don't say that your skin feels like how I imagine skin to feel. You know how you imagine something to feel a certain way, then the experience is not as good as you projected? I'm amazed every time I touch you -- just as I dreamed. Perhaps better.
I used to imagine weight pressing on my chest -- a physical symptom of a mental dysfunction. Is that why I enjoy you pressed into my chest, your body on top of mine? It's real. It's significant. It pushes the ghost-forces away.
I'm not Goody Proctor in Salem, being sentenced to death by crushing. (Perhaps my high school english class is all to blame.)
Any twisted desire for anger or hurt or revenge must be overcome. The feeling may be there, but I don't want to be that person.
You're my gentleness. Not to be mistaken for coddling or mothering or even taking care of (necessarily).
I'm rattling my shell, scraping my claws against myself, in a thoughtful, thumb-twiddling manner.
And push my arm through the small gap between your neck and the mattress.
Yesterday I succesfully used the word "cuckold" in a sentence.
Today I took my medication.
Tomorrow....could be anything.
Of course she would fall in love with you. Why wouldn't she? It was nothing for me either.
What do you mean to me?
Words are easy when playing the part of a hopeless romantic. And it's easier for me to describe a dynamic that I don't currently have but hope to achieve.
But then I actually have something. "Something" sounds so small and insignificant. But this something occupies over half of my thoughts. Half of my feelings. My entire night of sleeping. It's not insignificant.
I just to know what it is. Exactly.
But it affects me deeply. It pulls me in unexpected directions, but also anchors me. A starting point. A focal point?
You say you like how my skin smells when I'm sleeping.
How can I compete with that?
I don't say that your skin feels like how I imagine skin to feel. You know how you imagine something to feel a certain way, then the experience is not as good as you projected? I'm amazed every time I touch you -- just as I dreamed. Perhaps better.
I used to imagine weight pressing on my chest -- a physical symptom of a mental dysfunction. Is that why I enjoy you pressed into my chest, your body on top of mine? It's real. It's significant. It pushes the ghost-forces away.
I'm not Goody Proctor in Salem, being sentenced to death by crushing. (Perhaps my high school english class is all to blame.)
Any twisted desire for anger or hurt or revenge must be overcome. The feeling may be there, but I don't want to be that person.
You're my gentleness. Not to be mistaken for coddling or mothering or even taking care of (necessarily).
I'm rattling my shell, scraping my claws against myself, in a thoughtful, thumb-twiddling manner.
And push my arm through the small gap between your neck and the mattress.
