It was an extremely beautiful night tonight so I drove home from work with the windows down. I allowed my current CD of choice to linger through the soft air and I drifted like a cast-away in my thoughts.
I'm doing this all wrong.
In the past week, in the past seven days I have found myself kissing three separate men. Now, I feel no shame in this because, lets face it, there are far worse things I could be doing than kissing silly boys, but I still feel myself over analyzing each encounter.
Two of them, I've kissed before. One of them, not so much. But the one thing they all have in common, lack. Not from their inability, as I said I've kissed two of them before, but I suppose in the sense of my own personal detachment. For years I've kissed with emotion, I've kissed with heart and pain and lust and everything I can and have or will feel. Lately, it's just a form of physical contact... nothing significant, nothing special...
and that makes me sad. I want that fire back... part of me is afraid I'm never going to experience it again. And this is the part of me I hate right now because it's the part of me that misses him. But I'm fighting so very hard... and I win a little more everyday.
So in the mean time, I suppose I will continue to kiss boys in hopes one of them will give me butterflies. In hopes that one day, I'll get the same sensation of falling in the pit of my stomach I did on that first night when he brushed the hair from my sleeping eyes and whispered "my god she really is beautiful." Sadly, and strangely, it's a feeling I got often. Almost every time he kissed me. I miss that feeling. I think in some ways I need that feeling...
But what do I know?
No comments:
Post a Comment