We're talking.
Dispassionately.
Dispassionately?
Yeah.
You're right.
There's no way we can be dispassionate.
We're much too intense.
In ourselves.
And about each other.
But we're trying.
And we'll come up with something.
Because we both care too much for it to be any other way.
And no, I'm really very sorry but I can't give you the details. Because a key part of it all would completely destroy his anonymity. In some ways, the details matter a lot. But in other ways, they don't. It's all about what's underneath.
It's always about what's underneath.
Trust.
Intimacy.
Passion.
Danger.
Love.
Whether or not any of those words are used.
Especially that last one.
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2 comments:
Sometimes love is not the word we toss around so casually, so possessively... so commonly. Maybe it's not even as diaphanous as romantics wax lyrical over, soft, slippery, elusive as soft lips teasing tender tissue. Maybe love isn't so heavy, either... the sense of racing heartbeat crushing, breathless against breast. What if it isn't 'soulmate' and magnetic twin flame energy... or lifetimes rushing into one eternal second? What if love is the simple acceptance of all that is, all that isn't, all that will be, won't be... period. What if it begins with our self and extends to all others and plays by no rules (at least, none man has created). It sounds like this is your dance... with him.
To Anonymous:
Yes.
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