It's springtime, even if the snow is still falling. And, just like the jr. high kids I used to teach, my thoughts and heart have turned to fantasy and hormones...How can someone my age, having gone through so much, surviving a near death accident, a divorce based on multiple infidelities and a theiving business partner, (geeezus) still feel so foolishly young and muddled?
I have a longing, physically, emotionally, intellectually and politically for someone who probably thinks I'm invisible or at the very fucking least just some crazy coffee lady. Somehow this new longing is harder to bear after everything else...
I seem to lack the courage and or self-belief to dare to reach out and touch, to expose my heart's jugular. Still It's so wonderfully sweet how he makes me feel. I will not regret feeling so deeply again, I thought for a long time that was dead in me. How damned wonderful to feel alive even if it is staggering to dare. I feel as if I know him, tho i really don't. Small conversations, small looks as if he was trying to figure out who the fuck, what the fuck I am...I am sad for his losses, I love his obvious sweetness. Inexplicably, I want to touch his arm, be near him, talk politics and life. Intimacy seems so unattainable, tho I have this crazy urge to kiss him and ask him to hold me, wrap his arm around my waist and pull me in tight. I know that ultimately, I want his friendship more than anything else. I'd be happy just to sit and talk politics, toast to life and hear what he liovs about life, music, art...Fucking Springtime!
I wish I was Sheherezade. I wish Yeats and Pablo Neruda were never in my poetic lexicon....how painful to still be a romantic in this hard-edged day and age...okay I lied, I love their language and passion, even if I were never to make love again, I would not live without or lose their beauty of language and ideology in my life...
I just find myself shaking in my soul, wishing I believed, really believed, I was dear, sensual, and vital to someone again...wishing I trusted in my heart, my attractiveness, my intellect, to matter, once again. Don't think I'm cut out for one-nighters, don't think I can be a quick fuck and goodbye ma'am. Values...ethics...all I've got left. Oh and humor.
Okay Spring, give me something to believe in and I will prove my metal.
Ne cede odium. Ne cede malis.
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