irrational things (love).
love and sex are irrational things, so it is pointless to be objective about issues that are naturally going to be abstract and have no way of being rational even if the sun crisps my skin into scaly leather. there is simply no point.
"what are you looking at?" (you are a museum and I am looking at your beautiful exhibits; I want your monkey to come into my palace).
which is why I think: we are perhaps the most fucked up couple ever splattered on this earth. first of all, I am a Leo, he is a Scorpio, and for those of you who are unfamiliar w/ astrology- we aren't forces to be reckoned w/. the emotions that seep from our eyes, down our cheeks, onto sweatshirts- they aren't what love cakes between your toes; what love is cracked up to be. love is supposed to be covered w/ strawberries and juiced over seeds- not this look of anguish that sends deserts into my heart. whatever this love is- it's the evil kind.
really, I am a vestal virgin: not as many people have poked and prodded me as you may think, and therefor the jabs of fingers cause tremors up and down my spine (my parents are going out of town next week? oh what's the use when I take care of myself before he does?)- and really, what good am I if broad shoulders give no pleasure (except once, before the full moon)?
I considered an affair w/ Jon. Jon...his soulful eyes thickly eyeing me from the couch, words pouring effortlessly from his mouth in haikus and poetic ramblings: "I wish you would have told me how you felt...; you held back." and I would, except
1. he moved to Colorado springs
2. he's my best friend's ex-boyfriend
3. the thought of hurting Andrew in such a way is almost as bad as that dream I had where I was jerking off my best friend.
crying- both of us outside my house: feeling somewhat cleansed, marriage vows in back pockets, exactly where they belong.
"what are you looking at?" (what I will always want but never have; what I will always regret yet never fully appreciate; what Jon could've held but never did; what love wants us to be- but never, never will).
so I figure... no one male is enough. so I feel for others- for anyone- and together they make one ideal male: make me whole.
and love slumps her shoulders before his race. the best friend of his-Ben- lays silently beside him in the prickled clarity of nite, trying to ignore thoughts discarded absentmindedly above them
a hovering away from rebirth
(besides- it was just a full moon anyway).