I was reading the fish's blog about notes she received from her high school boyfriend. It made me remember. Remember notes being passed from me to BigTimeHighSchoolLove. The type of love that kept me for 3 years and broke my heart. It was the love that made me bitter and angry for years, looking in the face of men knowing they were just like him. He wrote me notes.
It made me nostalgic.
It made me realize how painfully young I was and how words like love, lust, infatuation, and sex in my wise old age of 21 years --- those words were like French to me back then. I knew their meanings. I could conjugate them to different tenses..even use them in a sentence, but their true interpretation...I could not fathom.
And now, they're becoming more like Spanish. I know their meaning more.
I can speak it more fluently. And...I want it. I want to be romanced.
Open my door. Pull out my chair. Tell me I'm beautiful and special and
dammit...you l-o-v-e me. More importantly, make me feel it.
Spiraling back into Afroman's arms, rather.....having him spiral back into my bed feels good. Feels damn good in the respect that he knows my body. He knows my mind. He knows my craziness and yet he doesn't run away.
Does he make me feel loved? Sometimes.
Its not that "can'tbreathewithoutyouGetallgiddywithyounexttome.myheartwasostwithoutyou" love.
He's pleasing my body right now.
He's *dare I say* convenient. And so am I. *dare I say easy*
I want a man who will ease my load a little bit. Someone who will have my back. Someone who doesn't have me do the heavy-lifting in the relationship.
Like that song...
Been around the world
And I can't find my baby
For now, I guess I'm content with this convenient arrangement we have.
I'm having my cake...I need some ice cream too.