and so it begins...

It is not often I can feel myself at this point; at the exact moment - when I am not quite walking toward the cliff, not falling off into the weightless air, but standing right on the precipice. Poised to leap and take flight or run with all of my might away from the edge. The decision is sometimes made with eyes wide open, and others eyes wide shut, but to imagine I can control my response to the magnetism, the curiosity, the lure, drawing me nearer with the softest gentlest web of silk, the sheer dangerousness of it is foolish.

What is it about this feeling of longing that causes two otherwise rational, well educated, emotionally stable people to do something so fool hearty? To have imagined that he was somehow "safe". That while he certainly had his charms, surely my defective heart made me somehow immune to them. That simply the act of being in pain, broken created a feeling of protection and isolation and gave me a feeling of haughty superiority. To have begun with mild, amused interest and have him slowly stoke the fire until I cannot wait until the flames are licking at my toes and arms and nakedness because it means that I will know. Know that it is real, that is is more than even my mind could fathom.

How then have the tables turned? How did I lose my grasp on the situation and find myself ready, willing and able to move heaven and earth to hear his voice just on air and feel his breath against my face while he talked about his day. Unencumbered now, able to speak transparently, anxiously about every nuance of the experiences that made up his daily successes and tiny failures. How can the sound of his voice instill such a feeling in me that I ache with the wanting of him - an emptiness longing to be filled by his hands all over my body, his mouth tasting my lips, my cheeks, his eyes seeing parts of my soul that I have long since forgotten even existed. Breasts waiting their turn to be noticed and appreciated and the exquisite feelings along the nerve endings as he pulls his head back and stares at me as though I was the last vision his eyes would ever see, the look in eyes taking in my panting, glistening form and licking his lips in anticipation of the hours ahead that the cool, dark night has to offer.

Making love again sometimes forcefully and sometimes with an aching tenderness that is like a balm on my heart that opens up my very being so he can climb inside. Lovemaking from the inside out, when even exhaustion is no match for the passion. Falling asleep still linked together, fragrant, and damp.