Of course, I love the feeling of your closeness, and not just because that’s “how I am.” It’s about how we are and how our areness feels against my skin.
Aren’t we something special? Noone fits the way you do on me. Even the soothsayer shook his head when I asked about you.
“Gal, dat man dere troublin’ you got much on ’em, but he your man fuh sho. No other will fit you.”
I already knew that. My heart and soul told me so…body too.
I have released my guilt over the heat my passion brings. And perhaps you’ve forgiven her associated temper; if not, you will, if it ever goes cold. Too little spice means loss of flavor. Too little friction, you won’t have flame.
We take the sun for granted, and what an awesome gift He gives. We all get a little forgetful, every now and again, until the day he doesn’t rise.
I tried to be unaffected – filled my journal and mind with all kinds of facts my heart simply will not accept as truth. Even my mothers’ have told me that this will pass; if by passing they mean acceptance, then yes. If they mean forgetting, they are wrong.
I am not the coveted champion of female independence, as I once pretended. I am the unpopular daughter: a devotee of love and pleasure, of the deepest and sweetest kind. I love to love those I love, and maybe I want them too close to me because winter is coming, and it seems only I can hear the whisper of chill.
We truly haven’t much time.
And I just thought you – like me – could use the warmth of one you truly love, and who safekeeps the parts of you you’ve forgotten until you’re ready to remember.