Lying nose to nose, I look into your pale, blue, bright eyes, and see them smiling at me.
And I make an effort to realize that you’re a person, not just a means to satisfaction. Understanding that makes me smile, as I realize that the moment is mutual and that I am happy because you seem happy.
The hand I’m holding isn’t a pawn played toward another unbuttoned fly. It’s the hand of a person, just like mine. There’s purpose, and perspective, and longing in that hand, just like in mine. And I stroke the skin of your fingers between mine, empathizing, and we press into each other tightly and kiss deeply, and I momentarily enlighten myself to our understated connectedness.
There’s a love there – however infant, substantial, or sustainable I don’t care – and it is good and it is present. I protect the moment with concentration and it respectfully continues, unmolested by my perpetual skepticism and weak criticisms.
I need to work on this more, but in the meantime, thanks, Moment.
When it’s time to let go, I do, but I’m scared because I fear there’s not much to keep this going, and I don’t want to hurt you, but I do want this to happen again.
Maybe I’m wrong in assuming you’re sensitive, wrong in knowing what you want, wrong in knowing what I need. I’m embarrassed by how wrong I might be.
Regardless, I want you to realize that, whether it comes from me or not, there’s lasting love for you in the world. I hope you knew that already and I feel arrogant for thinking it’s possible you didn’t.
Maybe this is how things are meant to start. Maybe I should jump and figure it out during the fall. Someone said that. It seems like the right thing to do.