Valentine’s Day 21

It’s easiest to say that we fell to a comfortable sleep. But it’s just the barest hint of the truth.

The truth is, tired as I was, I spent a good long while thinking before I slipped into the vale of sleep. Sara was facing away, buttocks pressed against me. Her soft blonde hair a bit frizzy and stirring in the eddies of the air conditioner. The muscled form of her all safe and safety. And snoring like a baby bear, soft and rumbely.

Sara would never come out and say it but she is giving me time to sort my feelings. Of the two of us she is the more practical whereas I am the more ruthless. She would say that I should just give it time. That if we push, we’ll cause problems. She’s not wrong. But I am almost constitutionally incapable of not pushing, so she gives me the gift of time.

I had planned this whole elaborate honeymoon scene. Rose petals and whips, sensation play and edge. And I just can’t work my head around it not being a true honeymoon. But laying here, with Tara curled into me, I can’t help but admit the truth. I could adapt the scene, more black leather than the specially bought white, cinnamon instead of vanilla. But I can’t seem to let it go. I had my heart set, I believed that Tara would say yes and, I’m not a fool, I can see that she’d run or break and undo everything we’ve done if I push. And I don’t know how to not push.

The fear says let it slide. Get up. Make dinner. Do some chores. Watch a movie. Just be for awhile. And it’s terribly tempting. But I’ve neglected Sara trying to be primal for Tara. She deserves better from me. And how do I reinforce that we value Tara without ignoring her while I serve Sara’s needs. This is the dilemma. If it were just Sara and I, I would tie her up and use gentle touches coupled with slaps of the riding crop as foreplay. And so an idea forms. Of how to incorporate all of us together into the scene. All serving our individual purposes.

A slow smile breaks across my face. Tension pours out of me and I cuddle down next to Tara. And reaching my right arm behind me, cup my hand on the smooth soft of my wife’s thigh. Somehow, this always soothes me and I drop off to sleep.

To name a thing

Some say I am brave to love
To gamble heart and sanity
On chance and flame

Mayhap, my sight is flawed
I know myself for broken
And perhaps in breaking further
My pieces will align and I will be whole

perhaps the flame will forge me
And I will rise anew

Is it bravery to love?
Rather, I think, it necessity.

Reoccurring hope

I find myself thinking about you.
And, of an instant, the flash as you are in my arms and I’m kissing you
Lips pressing and holding the words left unsaid
Tongue slipping against tongue
like a dam breaking
The torrent
the flood of might have been collapsing down to this moment
where our choice is each other
and a fierce joy for each future minute
we will face unafraid
Secure in the knowledge
that we will face it together.

The too quiet morning

I recently told a friend that I anticipated that this September would be a bad one. Last year I was distracted by relationships, failed or otherwise. This year I, now, have no such distance. She said there was still time, that some relationship might start up. She was being kind, maybe a bit fearful of my state in the weeks that lead up to that dreadful anniversary. I find myself less than optimistic concerning the same thing. The possibility of anything seems so distant. And my efforts seem to not make a bit of difference. Like fighting a tiller in a storm, even though the seas seem calm. I just keep moving forward, swept along the current. Unable to find home or shore.

My call to arms

I’ve heard it said that the benchmark for love is whether or not you would die for someone.

It’s not. Death is Easy. We all do it. It’s going to happen.

No, the benchmark for love is whether or not you will live for someone.
Will you wake each day with the intention that today you will be as good to them as when you were courting. As when you were dating. As when you first saw them blush with their body. As when you first touched and your heart sped up a little.

Love is a emotion, yes. But in a relationship, it’s also a choice. The choice to love completely. To not allow all of the noise and fury of this chaotic, beautiful, mad world we live in, to not allow it to take over and intrude where it is not welcome.

But, people call me crazy for opening my heart so wide. And I won’t pretend that I have not been hurt. But, if I allow that pain to make my choices for me then I am not living. I am hiding.

I choose to not hide. To not be ruled by pain. By fear. I may not always know the way. But I know that love is my guide

Love and relationships

Love blossoms for the most absurd reasons. A word, a look, a deed or a need.
But to grow it always takes the same things. Consistency, not boredom, not in a rut but doing the things you say you’re going to do.
Respect, not obedience or abasence but seeing in them your equal, your partner.
Honesty, voicing your concerns and your joys.
Communication, constant communication, not always talking but always trying to get to understanding.
Learning, each piece of them and yourself with them.
Growing together until entwined you are more together than singly.

Those are the ones that I know, that work.
Love is infinity, but a relationship is the bloom that grows from the spark. It must be treated as a growing living thing.

Musings on love

Love makes us fool’s, may I never be so wise that I fail to take a chance on love.
Love makes us blind, may I never see so clearly that perception keeps me from my loves arms.
Love makes us reckless, may I never be so cautious that I fail to risk little to win all.

Love is worth pain, worth bad choices, worth the how can I have been so stupid moments.

It is worth the risk. It is worth the effort.
Relationships are not easy. People are involved so how could they be? But where there is love, there is hope. Where there is hope, there is a chance.

Out the other side

There is something either cleansing or fucking scary about coming out of a depression so deep that moving itself is a act of will. Afterwards, I feel almost normal which I never really feel for any length of time. And that’s scary. Because I remember this feeling. It’s the same as what I felt when my emotions were locked down. The pure sense of seeing out from a cell constructed of my mind. Safe but trapped.

The other side is I feel scoured clean. Like all pain has been cleared away. Though it hasn’t and the loss of that numbness makes way for the pain of being alone. There is someone, of course, but we haven’t spent much time together due to scheduling lately. And I need that contact to maintain equilibrium.

I can maintain when I am on my own, but if I get used to having someone to share spinning plate duty with, then they are unavailable, the spin starts to falter.

And, for me, nothing calms me, keeps me centered like touch. Just a hand on my back is enough. Though more is always welcome.

And, for reasons I won’t go into, for privacy reasons, we touch very little. Also a problem for me.

It doesn’t feed my depression, but it doesn’t help it.

So I guess this is less about depression and more about my needs not being completely met. Not that I didn’t know that they wouldn’t be, but that I, foolishly perhaps, thought that I was better equipped to weather the storm.

This past year

Anyone who has been with me, reading this blog, knows that I fall in love and I fall in love and I fall in love. And you may wonder, is my heart so fickle that it falls in love so often? Or am I unable to commit and so flit from love to love?

The answer is neither of those things. My feeling is that we choose to shut ourselves off. We choose to love stingyly. Because it hurts. Because pain is so hard to take when the relationship ends. We convince ourselves that because it did not last, it must not have been love.

We do ourselves a disservice. Love is not so fickle. In our aversion to pain, we choose to allow our hearts to fade.

I did this for a long time. For 6 years. And you may not think that is that long. But to me, it was a prison I didn’t know how to get out of. I had to be pulled out of it.

That relationship failed, but it woke me up. I began to see again. And what I chose, ultimately it is a choice, what I chose is love. To not reject love. To not seek it, but to allow it.

So, in the natural course of being a poet, of seeing into people, of seeing who they are. In the moment. I see their unique beauty. Even if we are just words. Even if we never meet.

We are still hearts and minds and desires. And allowing ourselves to be honest with each other and ourselves, we allow for love. We give ourselves permission to fall in love. To jump from the precipice and fall. Exhilaration and pain, always hoping that there is no bottom. That you fall as well and we choose to love with fierceness.

To love each day. To not let love flair then fade, the flames must be fed. Sharing ourselves. Sharing everything. And each new piece is beautiful. Each new piece reminds me of why I jumped and why many people are worth the fall.

Love gloriously, love thoroughly, love without end. Because they don’t. My heart is not fickle. Those I love, I love forever. I hold that love forever. Love is not a finite resource. It is infinite. Relationships fail for any number of reasons, but love fails only when we allow it to. When we get distracted by the noise and the comfort of saying that the relationship failed because it wasn’t love. The lie we tell ourselves. Because if it was love, then the relationship failed because of us. And then you are forced to examine why and who you are. Always the hardest part.

So. My love is not fickle. It is a fire that rages, a sky in storm, an ocean in depth. It is eternal. I won’t hold myself to a lesser standard. But, you. You I will forgive, because I love you.

Relationship Games

I suppose it comes down to this. I am willing to play games, to see if a relationship with you will be worth it, but at the end of about a month I’m done and I want to know what we are doing. I’m ok with fun times and casual whatever. But I want to know that is what we are. And I will keep looking if that is all that you want. But the games stop. And if you decide that you just want to be good friends, brace yourself for a bit of culture shock.  I don’t treat my friends, even my good friends, the way that I treat lovers and potential lovers. Not that I treat them badly, but they get less of me.  Less of my time, less of my attention, just less. I’m perfectly willing to be friends with ex’s but I find that they don’t want that, not really.  When they say they want friendship, they mean they want the same level of access as I give lovers, but without actually being with me.  I don’t do that. It is unfair to the people who are with me. And before you think I am cheating on anyone, no,  I don’t do that.  I am not exclusive with anyone, their choice.  I prefer inclusive polyamory. But I can do exclusive, just no one ever asks for that with me.  Perhaps I should be a bit offended, or not, who can say?