msjessica's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- loneliness and isolation pt2 where i talk about a man and answer a question about love i think about you all the fucking time. i don't know where to start. i came last night in a dream. no, maybe it was more that..... i woke to an orgasm, brought on by a dream. i've heard that even though dreams can feel long, they are just a few seconds of brain activity, if that - i've always felt that couldn't be true, often i have dreams that feel like they last hours. this however was an almost completely foreign experience to me - i experienced a flash of images, simultaneous experiences, there was no prelude that i was aware of, it was just this flurry of worlds and a climax, i awoke with a gasp and the rush of an orgasm. this is a step forward for me. within the last fortnight, perhaps i did have a prelude. a wandering dreamscape - i must clarify, the dreams aren't even necessarily sexual in nature, it's just that i suppose my body doesn't know how else to process them so, as i do with most of my emotions ie. things i do not understand what to do with, i experience them sexually - i woke with a jolt and my left hand flung to my cunt while my right gripped to my breast and tugged a nipple before i was really awake, so i found myself violently in this position, startled awake and just tried to continue the momentum that had been thrust upon me and had so many bizarre images as my witching hour wank bank fodder, i was quite deeply disturbed by what was arousing me but at that time and in that circumstance, to stop to ask questions is to halt the pursuit of pleasure and.... well fuck, i can hardly do that while i'm wide awake. but even then, while i had some kind of mini orgasm it was nothing compared to the moan i woke with last night. - i spent an entire day with you sitting in the back of my mind. i struggle with long weekends. one part of me is so happy for the time away from work but the fact is, when the rest of my life is empty, while i like the space i am desperate for something to fill it. desperation is NOT romantic, no matter what any sign that i inherited from a film festival that i hide front facing the wall behind my desk may try and tell me, desperation is sad, and ugly, snot covered face and space between breasts superficially scratched dripping blood, some ridiculous adult expression of ageless angst. i spent an entire day with you sitting in the back of my mind. i hate myself for this. i hate myself for it because i know i don't even really like you very much, i know we don't even really *click*, you are not really for me, i was always so insulted by how you seemed to think that i thought we connection we shared was enough, or TOO MUCH for me - it was a glistening example of how well you did not know me at all. yet here i am, craving your company to the point of trying to carve an alternative out of my chest cavities. fuck, life is complex, i will give it that. i spent all this time thinking about you. things happened. sitting in a very long, a little further than half way away from the stage and after the show had started, i could smell when you arrived. while i watched and listened, i put on a show of my own. some strange in-between of finding my light, pronouncing my best angle (regardless of the fact i did not know for sure where you were), i spent this hour as my ~best self~, acutely aware of what i was hearing as well as how i was sitting. life loves to surprise us, so naturally it was the moment i did not expect it to see you, that split second i let rest my armour, i turn my head curiously and there you are. you look ugly. this makes me happy. i know i look beautiful (i am ugly, yet i can look beautiful. you are beautiful, yet you can look ugly. some part of me says this. i know it's not true, i really really really know this. we are both of us both of these things, and also neither of us are either of those things). i shake, tremble at the touch of you. when you are not here, i could speak novels, lifetimes, could breathe paintings into life with my words, to you. to connect eyes and have you draw near me and embrace, exchange cheek kisses, just like acquaintances do, just like lovers do, to have my face buried against your neck and your scent, and you against mine, just like animals do, i vibrate. i always think it is your hair that holds your scent so well, and likely it is the same for me, the reason why our smells cling to one another so fiercely. in your presence i shake, blow smoke, stare, become silent. i don't know you. i know very well my idea of you. you are not it. you joke, within 60 seconds you ~joke~ about using a woman and her not complaining about it. i still spend another day with you in the back of my mind. you tell me you had forgotten how beautiful my eyes are. for a time, i fantasise about... about the same shit i was fantasising about and getting resentful about just a few weeks ago. this brief experience of being very well looked after, thinking that was what love looked like, thinking that all men who listened to certain music and were above a certain age had the same idea of love and were so free and understanding about it. and maybe they are. really, quite possibly they are. i possibly am not. there is so much i need to learn to really have that kind of love. i have said many, many times that i do not want to be in love again until i am able to give the kind of love i want to receive. and as i type that, i think of how maybe, likely, i did, i got that love. and it is small and self serving and short lived. i think i must focus more energy on expanding and deepening my idea of love. 12:54 a.m. - 2016-04-02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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