I haven’t been writing like I was almost a year ago, I am too aware of the infrequency. Makes my blood feel thick and greasy, makes me feel sick. My head is too full, my heart too heavy. I think it is because I am struggling with the loneliness of it all.
I’ve been single for nearly twelve months and I am more the woman I had ever wished to be. I am not bound in cannot’s and don’t’s, I lifted all restrictions with a firm hand and tears enough to fill some rich strangers pool in Palm Springs. I didn’t cry for sadness, I cried for freedom and new beginnings. I cried for a love I thought I may have lost and it sounds silly on reflection but my heart is bursting. This pulse could set new records.
Human contact is the strangest thing. I crave it more now than ever before. The shy tremor of a hand caressing my jaw when we kiss turning to an exciting pressure on throat, waking to a feather light stroke down my spine and up, up, up the curve of my derriere. A boyishly charming glance at my décolletage when I am undressing, with all these unspoken instructions. An affectionate something when my legs give way and my heart falls out of my mouth. Which it does from time to time.
And then I feel troubled and tense upon seeking a kiss or a squeeze or a compliment because I don’t wanna be the kind of girl a boy wants to fiddle with, I wanna be the kind of lady a man falls in love with.
The kinda lady you fall in love with.
Push me in the snow, carry me to bed
Call me crazy
Call me remarkable
Dress me up and paint my face
Make me into your wildest fantasy
Race me to the front door
Read to me
Write of me
Watch me colour myself up
Poke fun at my expense
Laugh with your eyes when I stumble over sentences
Terrorise my boundaries
Call me neo-traditional, call me yours