a good conversationalist

Standards rise in a realistic way for once. Perhaps I’m a ticking time bomb waiting to detonate once I discover the fragility of romantic thought. Whatever the case, most people disinterest me. They don’t know how to talk, often bogged down in themselves. To have an inner source of power and truth, but act only outwardly is so attractive. No one can run this drill 100% of the time, but imagine crossing someone with it at least as their default. Asking questions out of real curiosity and not fear of appearing disinterested. Then hitting the jackpot realizing you actually have values and interests in common. Follow it all up with an appreciation for the moment and not trying to dig your claws in to preserve it forever. Shooing away inevitable feelings of loss. To understand that life is a path people will sometimes walk with you and not always at the same time. Feeling your hope die is unpleasant, but to be grateful for having any hope at all is next level. The rare great conversationalist – calm, collected, beautiful with confidence, considerate, and in the rare intimate occasion: compatible. They’re ones hard to let go. But life will stay just as sweet when you encounter such rareness again.

the flip flop

Answering a call to intimacy, it flails around like a fish out of water. Flip flopping back and forth, a directional act magnetized to the needs of two. I want to convince it my way, but this struggle to survive does not seek counsel from the instigator. Kick in the different perspective: I’m no longer interested in guiding the general direction of the flip flop, but more mindful of my choice to move myself in front of it or completely out of its way. For the time being, I will abide only on my own terms.

love and intimacy

Scattered thoughts. I’m avoiding thinking of the act of sex, but rather only moments leading to it. Different circumstances trigger different emotions that lead to sex, but those moments often get overlooked for the act to come itself. I imagine the eye contact that draws you closer, sometimes so intimate that sex actually gets in the way of this connection. In these moments, some part of me is falling in love. It might be atom-sized love or the full package, but I don’t see it as important anymore to know how great or little (imagine saying “I’m microscopically in love with you.”)  I guess these moments are defined by gaining trust, which sometimes feels violated while having sex, letting someone dive into your vulnerable state, only to be met back with cold, lost and shutdown eyes. Makes you wish you could go back and just stay in that moment preceding sex and learn to appreciate it more. Love fades in and fades out just as quick sometimes. I don’t necessarily mean this as a bad thing, more in a way that you can see it in front of you, but then goes dormant and returns again. No one can remain attached to someone 24/7 with their love stuck to each other. Being in love is what you have for yourself that just happens to co-exist and come into contact with others’ love for themselves. Never are you permanently one, never is the idea of falling in love or being in love always running at maximum power. Teenagers spending sixteen hours a day scribbling someone’s name in their composition journals beg to differ (do they still do that?) Life is incapable of attaining some sort of supreme control over, so I think I’ll stop concerning myself with what the perfect idea of falling or being in love is and take it in any sized doses that it comes.