pb

in the past i was an overnight lover, a fleeting and angry bundle of sinew and flesh. a ne'er-do-well with more attention than one boy could honorably handle. i tore through hearts at breakneck speed. i was this whirlwind of lust and eyes and crooked smiles; oft leaving red-eyed ruin in my wake. i loved, intense adoration, the earnest stares and soft sighs. each and every one of them i devoured with a delighted whimper of pleasure, never thinking they wouldn't be able to match the reckless abandon with which i experienced them. conquest never entered my mind or actions. i wished only to love and embrace and taste and feel. i wished only to share this painful bursting need to chase the cold away.

now that i'm older i think all of that comes back to haunt me, and i've let myself open to it. i've stopped killing hearts and dreams and now i stand in awe of the beauty i used so brashly. i loved them all in a way, but i think their shades take vengeance on my sanity these last few years, not knowing how i lie abed at night and dream myself into each of their clutches. i proffer these huge hands of stone,"...such big, strong hands..." and wonder ironically how it led to this ruin of longing and prostrate empathy.

i've finally connected the tactile bloodred lust for life and adventure with the watery-eyed compassion and capacity for feeling quiet strength. i understand restraint and delicate care now. all of those crying fingertips on my face and shuddering, clinging embraces are mine to lament for their misunderstood urgency.

i've self-imposed this solitude as penance, but in so doing near-destroyed any healthy view of this boy-man i've now become. i suspect i've the potential to be whole now, to strike a delicate balance; to be gentle but firm, strong but not brittle, decisive but not overbearing. what's needed now is merely a catalyst, a key, something of a parole.




-pb
book: philosophy: who needs it? -ayn rand
music: the cure