Words have failed me often these past few weeks. Sometimes I think that there are no words to describe what's going on inside me. That maybe it's all so new that no words have been invented for it yet.
I think of it...every minute of every day. I let it wash over me like soapy water and I breathe it in like air. It fills my heart and soul with indescribable pain and pleasure...like a constant orgasm of the spirit, sending shivers along my spine and soft flutterings through my stomach. It makes me feel whole.
I wake in the morning with this name on my lips...this feeling of something that should be there and isn't...this perception of something just out of my reach...this thing that I long for...this touch I have never known...this sensation that courses through me like a fire burning out of control behind closed doors. It makes me strong. It makes me weak.
I have become odd. Maybe it was a slow progressive process that spread itself out over the years of my life like a warm blanket. Or maybe it was a sudden epiphany that reached out a roughened hand and grabbed me to pull me in. Either way, it's happened. And I don't regret this becoming. I don't regret what I've morphed into. This woman. This beast.
I find myself doing small repetitive things. Touching a hand to my forehead. Scratching an itch that just won't go away. Wiping a counter that's already clean. I walk through each day with no purpose other than this one all encompassing desire...this moment that I wait for. And all the while, in the back of my mind, is this thought.
Of him.
