We were innocent once, but it was only a phase.
If I've had a crush on you for nine years, can it still truly be called a crush? Doesn't the definition of "crush" necessarily include it's temporal nature and association with adolescence? "Puppy love" would seem to imply that when we become full-fledged card-carrying adults, there's somehow no room for that sort of childish infatuation, that mad pash that makes everything else seem wan and worthless. But if I have to spend my entire life hoping to to be saved by True Love, then why leave the house at all? I am a fickle wraith, a lusty mirage with limited forebearance. I need options.
There's always something, someone standing in our way. We set the stage on the night we met, too bashful to move outside of our patterns amd learn to find each other. Leaning on our old familiar ways, our known quantities, until the sun came up and shone it's revealing light on our skittish, self-conscious attempts at one another. And then I was gone.
She comes in colors everywhere, she combs her hair, she's like a rainbow.
Coming, colors in the air, Oh, everywhere,
She comes in colors.
- Rolling Stones, "She's A Rainbow"
We got married, traveled, moved houses and cities. Not once have we found ourselves in anything but emotional proximity to each other, reaching around corners to swat distractedly at each other's likeness. Never have we been tainted by the excruciating daily grind, the small displeasures that would bind us together through mutual drudgery. Do we really know each other or are we still just fabrications of ourselves, always on our best behavior?
You are my fancy, my enduring fascination. We're all full of sentimental mash but we've got no follow-through. It's years later, and we're brave and steadfast and nothing but true to our passions. Yet still we find ourselves circling one another like strange, shy tigers. It's an intimate dance, even after all of this time. You have one beautiful finger poised gently on the clitoris of my soul.
If I've had a crush on you for nine years, can it still truly be called a crush? Doesn't the definition of "crush" necessarily include it's temporal nature and association with adolescence? "Puppy love" would seem to imply that when we become full-fledged card-carrying adults, there's somehow no room for that sort of childish infatuation, that mad pash that makes everything else seem wan and worthless. But if I have to spend my entire life hoping to to be saved by True Love, then why leave the house at all? I am a fickle wraith, a lusty mirage with limited forebearance. I need options.
There's always something, someone standing in our way. We set the stage on the night we met, too bashful to move outside of our patterns amd learn to find each other. Leaning on our old familiar ways, our known quantities, until the sun came up and shone it's revealing light on our skittish, self-conscious attempts at one another. And then I was gone.
She comes in colors everywhere, she combs her hair, she's like a rainbow.
Coming, colors in the air, Oh, everywhere,
She comes in colors.
- Rolling Stones, "She's A Rainbow"
We got married, traveled, moved houses and cities. Not once have we found ourselves in anything but emotional proximity to each other, reaching around corners to swat distractedly at each other's likeness. Never have we been tainted by the excruciating daily grind, the small displeasures that would bind us together through mutual drudgery. Do we really know each other or are we still just fabrications of ourselves, always on our best behavior?
You are my fancy, my enduring fascination. We're all full of sentimental mash but we've got no follow-through. It's years later, and we're brave and steadfast and nothing but true to our passions. Yet still we find ourselves circling one another like strange, shy tigers. It's an intimate dance, even after all of this time. You have one beautiful finger poised gently on the clitoris of my soul.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home