Writing bout this gives me fear. Fear to be disappointed. Why? Because writing bout this gives me hope. And I don’t do hope. It really does seem like hope is doing me. The Day My Horse Left Me, did you really come riding me?? I’ve had disappointment after disappointment in my life. If it weren’t for my resiliency I would no longer be here. I’ve been down so many times in my life. I’ve gotten up equally as much. Proof? Just read these rhymes. But I know you have. You must’ve. Are you my reader? The reader?
I just don’t wanna go there. Being here, in this town in Holland, is one big disappointment already, can’t take one more. But disappointment just is. What is, is love. I can see that too. I really do.
***
Last night while taking a shower I gave myself permission to fully active me; my memory! I said it wholeheartedly. And this morning? You come thru! Is it really you, or is it something I have to fully say goodbye to before I can say hello to something new? I dunno. But I’m sure you’re gonna tell me. (time:1:23) Or better yet: let me see, why all these words so desperately want to be!
***
A knock on the door. My heart beats fast. I’m wearing my white skinny jeans with a pink/purple-ish kinda shirt. No bra. I’m excited, scared, thrilled and there is a vague knowing of my-world-is-bout-to-turn-upside-down- present, somewhere way back in the background of my being. I walk towards the door. Barefeet. My hands are trembling. A little bit.
Lit candles all over the place. I love candles. “Too much?” “O well, I’m gonna leave it now, he’s here now anyways, not much I can change.” The door opens. I can feel my heart beating in my throat. The next moment I’m exposed to the most beautiful heartwarming smile I’ve ever seen. And those eyes… My heart is beating no more. It stopped.
You step into the appartment. I glance at your shoes. Brown. Vans? I dunno. You take ‘em off. You brought a backpack and are holding a helmet in your hand. Turned out you got here on your motorbike. I don’t know what to say and so one of the first things I say while putting both of my hands in front of my face is:”I can’t believe I’m doing this?!” I’m excited but there’s also disbelief. I have to laugh too.
But we’re both great actors. From the moment we met we acted exactly according to the script we wrote. Well, you kinda directed it. I more or less flipped. ’Bout a minute after we’d met for the first time: we kissed. Exactly according to script. Yes, that’s what we did. We’d never met, we’d have sex and then we’d introduce ourselves to each other.
***
Maybe I should say that from here on the script gets kinda R-rated, but maybe, we should leave certain things up to the fantasy of other peeps. I mean; we do want this movie to be, for the whole of humanity! Not just adults. Kids too. (time:1:37 am) But this is the script. Da book. The movie? We can cut and kinda play round with our game. Play? Screenplay.
(word count:515) The kissing turns into further exploration of our play. We did it the way, we wrote in our play. A few things weren’t (word count:537) mentioned in our script. We kinda messed ’round with it. Protection. Lube. The latter wasn’t there in a tubed matter.
I have to stay de-tached from writing these scenes. I simply can’t believe, they come out, right ’round; the Solstice. Right when I activated myself fully. My memory. My DNA. My original blueprint. Am I in for a stint? I don’t wanna sprint. I wanna run. Towards you. But maybe that is exactly what I do. How? By writing these words somehow??(time:1:44 am)
***
We lay on the floor. Carpeted floor. We’re half naked. I like the way you smell. I like how mellow you are. Can he feel how nervous I still am? Damn, one more drink would relax me. Later on I am opening a bottle of wine. He thinks it’s funny how I open it. But I ain’t no bartender. I tell him how I love to make smoothies. He does too. “Let’s make a smoothie!” He says. I object. Dunno why. (word count:703) Is it because his presence makes me nervous? I don’t want him to see I’m too nervous to make a smoothie in front of him? I can’t even open a bottle of wine properly cuz he’s watching me. “Jeeeez! I wish I wasn’t such a nervous miss.”
Instead of a nice ‘n fresh smoothie I throw a little bag of chips to you. You, who is sitting on the couch and me, standing in the tiny kitchen. “I never buy this stuff.” I said. “Don’t know when I last ate something like this.” You said. Or something like that. You have out-elephanted me majorly! (word count:808) Your memory? Is way better than mine.
Your memory might be better; my feelings for you must be bigger. Bigger than life. But I have to stay de-tached. De-tached in order to get to the right suspect. I don’t need to? I don’t need to be de-tached? Cuz we’re already One? Magnets no longer need to attract when they are One? You mean, you mean… it’s you and me??? Noooo, that can’t be??! What ’bout Chili?? (word count:888)
To be continued…(published:2:22 am)