Sunday, February 13, 2005
I haven't decided yet if this will be something I publish right away or, if like a number of others, it will be held as a draft, waiting for the right time. Of course, the right time never comes, but I really do intend to show you everything, one day.
I miss you. I miss your eyes, your smile, the way you hold your chin in your hand while I'm confessing all my mistakes. And God knows, I make enough of them.
I miss the gentle way you hold my hand, your arm around me while we drive (even when it doesn't seem possible, you find a way), the way you can make me squirm with words, or with no words at all. From across the room, you look at me and I melt. I love the way you make me feel, the words you encourage me to use, the fact that you enjoy my sexuality, and aren't threatened or disgusted by it. You broaden my horizons every time we speak.
I love that you know I'll always be here. Always. I must admit, it does get lonely sometimes, and I get frustrated and sometimes I weaken and tell you so. But I know that when it does happen, it will be all the more special as a result of our time apart. And yes, I do know that you're always with me, in one way or another; I remember to whom I belong. Thank you. For making certain I always know, for understanding that even though I know, sometimes it is difficult not to feel forgotten. Goes with the territory, I suppose.
I love the way your mind works. I respect and would appreciate more of your opinions on things. (hint...) I harbor an endless curiosity about your life, about each and every thing you do during the day, about how you feel.
I like the red nail polish. Yes, it goes back on today. I'm finished with the heavy lifting portion of the move, and so I won't have to worry (so much) about chips. Nothing worse than chipped nail polish. Okay, we both know I have bigger things to be embarrassed by than my nails, but still... thank you for noticing when I do them.
And you taste good. By now, I think I've probably tasted you everywhere it is possible to taste, and you just plain taste good. Okay, I know that's a personal opinion, but it is my blog, and I'm allowed to think you taste good if I want to. So there! (I'd stick my tongue out at you, but I'm somehow certain I would pay dearly for it later. Or perhaps not... you have a good sense of humor as well.)
And you care. And you aren't afraid to show it. And that, my dear, may be the sexiest thing any man can do. You want me to take care of myself, in fact, you insist on it. (And yes, I can read that tone in an email!) You always have my best interests at heart, even when it is inconvenient, or even painful for you to do so. How could I not love you? How could I not want to feel you here, next to me, inside me, every day?
Oh, and don't forget the fact that you fuck better than anyone else I've ever met. That does make a good impression, you know.
I miss you. I miss your eyes, your smile, the way you hold your chin in your hand while I'm confessing all my mistakes. And God knows, I make enough of them.
I miss the gentle way you hold my hand, your arm around me while we drive (even when it doesn't seem possible, you find a way), the way you can make me squirm with words, or with no words at all. From across the room, you look at me and I melt. I love the way you make me feel, the words you encourage me to use, the fact that you enjoy my sexuality, and aren't threatened or disgusted by it. You broaden my horizons every time we speak.
I love that you know I'll always be here. Always. I must admit, it does get lonely sometimes, and I get frustrated and sometimes I weaken and tell you so. But I know that when it does happen, it will be all the more special as a result of our time apart. And yes, I do know that you're always with me, in one way or another; I remember to whom I belong. Thank you. For making certain I always know, for understanding that even though I know, sometimes it is difficult not to feel forgotten. Goes with the territory, I suppose.
I love the way your mind works. I respect and would appreciate more of your opinions on things. (hint...) I harbor an endless curiosity about your life, about each and every thing you do during the day, about how you feel.
I like the red nail polish. Yes, it goes back on today. I'm finished with the heavy lifting portion of the move, and so I won't have to worry (so much) about chips. Nothing worse than chipped nail polish. Okay, we both know I have bigger things to be embarrassed by than my nails, but still... thank you for noticing when I do them.
And you taste good. By now, I think I've probably tasted you everywhere it is possible to taste, and you just plain taste good. Okay, I know that's a personal opinion, but it is my blog, and I'm allowed to think you taste good if I want to. So there! (I'd stick my tongue out at you, but I'm somehow certain I would pay dearly for it later. Or perhaps not... you have a good sense of humor as well.)
And you care. And you aren't afraid to show it. And that, my dear, may be the sexiest thing any man can do. You want me to take care of myself, in fact, you insist on it. (And yes, I can read that tone in an email!) You always have my best interests at heart, even when it is inconvenient, or even painful for you to do so. How could I not love you? How could I not want to feel you here, next to me, inside me, every day?
Oh, and don't forget the fact that you fuck better than anyone else I've ever met. That does make a good impression, you know.
