You gave me your words: beautiful, erotic, poetic, hilarious, thoughtful, direct, insightful. Everything all at once.
You gave me your soul through your music and poetry; the movies you recommended; the passages and quotes you shared with me.
Now you’ve taken them all away and left me here alone without any way to get in touch with you or any reason as to why you’ve gone and every time I think there won’t be anymore tears because surely there’s not enough salt water left in the ocean for one more droplet to squeeze out of my blood shot eyes….
It starts to flood.
Without answers all I can do is blame myself and plead to the universe and to God and to you (in the hopes you’ll hear me) for a chance to atone for whatever wrong I’ve done. Or at the very least: A proper goodbye from you. If this is goodbye(please don’t let this be goodbye), let me have that goodbye in your words and not this sudden expulsion from your life. Your words are so beautiful and if I’m never going to hear them again, give me one final paragraph.
Love in the Digital Age: One Passage Among Many
S: “I was actually under a blanket when I read your email. It would have been nice to share it with you while I watched a movie.”
G: “I’d like to dive under that blanket as if it were the Pacific. Rather than a movie, you’d see stars between patches of fog. Feel my whiskers on your smooth thighs. Grab the hair on my head, push me into your sex. Sing like a Siren to this wayward sailor. I’ll crash into your shore.”
S: “You can dive into me anytime. I will hold you there between me while you feast like a thousand starved sunsets are waiting to rise. And I won’t let you go until your whiskers have scratched every surface of my thighs”
S: “I guess I’m starving
G: “You’re apparently as famished as I. May we devour each other simultaneously, lips wet, seed shooting like stars. Insatiable hunger.”
S: “I’ve never been this way with anyone before. What the fuck are a thousand starved sunsets? I don’t even know what that means.”
G: “Having sat in the strand of the Pacific yesterday afternoon, I would say a starved sunset would likely happen on summer solstice, the sun never quite going down, like a mongrel hanging around until you finally toss it a crust of your bread even though you’re still hungry, a beach punk yourself. Times one thousand.”
G: “Funny enough, I was imaging the opposite, a sunrise, the emerging sun a long sought after blinding release after a night of passion.”.
G: “How many hearts did you break, the adorably beautiful, young English major? What a site for sore eyes.
Staying at the beach again tonight, as our power is still out in Berkeley, and the fires and smoke are totally out of control just to the north. The evacuation zone is humongous, it’s like nothing you’ve ever seen. This is a one-two punch of climate change and corporate greed. I worked for a few hours, but I’m getting behind.
I could use a home-cooked meal. One day I’ll sit at your table.
You know I’m a sucker for blondes, right? And Irish bars. And that belly peeking out needs to be peppered with baby kisses. You would have broken my heart. You look like someone famous, but I can’t put my finger on it. But I need to see the MILF Steph, tho. Who I hope to Isis will treat my heart like a fledgling bird.
S: “I want to lie on a bed with you somewhere and fondle your cock while you read to me. That is a thing I would like. I want it to be so natural and inconsequential; like buttering toast for you in the morning. I want it to be that easy and true.
I’d butter all your toast for all the rest of the days of your life.“