That Word. Yes, THAT word.

Dear E. Funny things swim in my head these days, chief among them is the possibility of me growing up, sweeping this languid brooding over things long gone, and maybe, just maybe, finally look at the brighter side and begin contemplating on the possibility of that dreaded four letter word.

I would like to be defenseless again. To subject myself to the spontaneous bursts of naive affection, to slam all the self-defeating switches down and face a germinating fondness head on. There are brief, lazy moments during the day when I catch myself thinking how it is to once more smolder in the unblinking gaze of pure gentleness. That was many moons ago, and I seem to have forgotten the tiny raptures of fingertips gliding the distance of a back of a neck towards the slow-moving rhythms of a thrusting hips, where, for a moment, they hesitate there, before starting to retrace their path and map the expanse of a rising and falling spine.

I miss midnight’s tender geometries: hands wrapped around the torso, concise kisses dotting pectorals and busts, legs anchored around waist, or two bodies recreating the concaves of soup bowls stacked sideways in quiet kitchen drawers.

I have almost forgotten how to glance at wall clocks impatiently, in blazing anticipation of after-work reunions over crustaceans, pasta, bubbly chuckles, bartering unhurried retelling of even the most mundane non-events of the day.

I want to be reminded that I am capable of spoiling someone to bits. To agonize over morning departures as I glance back in bed and there is loveliness purring softly, lost in the infinity of dreams and downy sleep.

I am aware that just by flirting with this silly notion, I am sealing my doom; that I will be treading a treacherous path, and even my greatest hopefulness will be prey to devastation and unspeakable grief.

I exhale, contemplating the sweet rewards of the L word, finding the courage to outpace gnawing hesitations and let my soaring expectations unravel with the January breeze.

Yours, Loudcloud, slightly intoxicated with possibilities, wide eyed, half-smiling.



* (LOVE, painting by Robert Indiana, 1973)