All The Things She Said

It’s sexy to be sober sometimes. To be Quiet. To Listen. To Touch people who don’t want to be touched. Be felt (by the evasive). Being attentive is a fetish unto itself. Braving the depths of the toxic.

I love what some may call damaged girls, complicated girls, and sometimes it would seem those who reject even that label, sometimes, often.

I like girls who can make me wriggle without meeting me. Without touching me. Without knowing me. Girls who appreciate the power of words.

Reading is sexy.

Writing is sexy.

Talking is sexy.

Doing is secondary.

Do not get me wrong. Booze is great. Dancing is great. Partying is great, but it’s child’s play. Foreplay for real relationships. Diversion. Delicious desperation.

All the things she said.

My spotlight serves as a trigger for anything and everything she said to me. I remember passages, words, in brief combinations, which lead back to treasured moments.

How marvelous it was to fuck in the abstract—a woman I didn’t even know to dream up for myself. A gentle voice attached to any person I could imagine for it. Love in text, words, the subtle tones of a voice coming forcefully, gently, and yes often literally, through my receiver. Comforting. Imagining a world in which we could be our best, in the vague “some day”. Luscious. Two damaged people, complementing each other’s mess, perfectly.

I love women.

Better women who use verbs.

Writhing. Missing. Yearning. Gripping.

Adjectives.

Hot.

Nouns.

Fingers. Clit.

What was that about you sheets, honey?

I love you so much. Let’s live in a heavenly state of delusion together, forever.

You’re insane, but I wouldn’t dream of running from you. It’s inevitable, but not yet. Today, I’m wet, hopped up on your texts, and ready to hear you breathe.

Dictionaries are heavy, so I use plain language, simple innocent words.

She overcompensates, but I forgive her what usually irritates me because she is so damn hot. It’s really hot. She cares. She knows things. She’s sharing her time with me. Her thoughts. Her fears. I eat it up. This is what I live for.

She. She is three women and a "person" thus far, but does it even matter? They dance in my head.

I cherish them.

I really enjoy walking around San Francisco.