Love Words

It's a windy and drizzly fall night. I've had some bourbon and I watched an episode of The Wire. My legs are achy in that liquor way and my mind is somewhat clear. I mean, somewhat.

But I'm feeling so goddamn romantic. So goddamn fucking romantic.

Not in that sad way. Not in the I'm lonely way. Not in the feeling sorry for myself way. But in the wanting way. The longing way. Sometimes I just want to fuck. Right now, I just want to love. Spontaneously.

Here's what I want.

I want to be able to look into the eyes of a boy for a long time. Unflinchingly long. Until my heart floats up to my throat and my lips start to tingle and my pussy just gets wet because it just does, because that's what it does when I get that undeniable need to be filled. It's not that my pussy just wants cock. My pussy wants love. My pussy wants to drown someone in love. Love'll make my pussy wet. And my heart wants to beat a boy into submission. And I only want to speak in kisses. I want a boy to learn to read my lips by the feel of them on his lips.

God. There needs to be another language.

I want another language so bad.

I'm sick of these words. I use the same ones over and over again. And I don't think I just need to read more. But I do need to read more. I need to read more so I can learn more words and figure out new ways to put them together so that more sense is made.

But I don't even want things to make sense. I try to make sense out of things all the fucking time. I'm a brainiac, a nerd for love. I compartmentalize and then I overflow and posts like these happen on rainy nights. That's all it is lately. An overflow.

But I don't want things to make sense. Not right now.

I want a new sense to be made. A sense of chaos. What happens when the body, the mind, the heart, all get overwhelmed, all at the same time, and none of them can explain anything. I want to know that what it's like to have no fucking clue.

These small small bits of knowledge hurt.

I want to know it all or nothing. I want to be a genius or a fool. Nothing in between.

A friend of mine told me the other day that he is in love. He got on a plane to have dinner with the girl and flew back the next morning and now he doesn't really have any idea what he's supposed to do. The only thing he knows is that he must have her. He talks about needing to play a game. But he has no idea what game to play. Fuck the rules. He doesn't even know what game he's playing anymore.

I posit this: Wait. Nope.

I don't know what I was about to suggest. I wanted to make some big beautiful suggestion about how to live the rest of my fucking life in order to get that big love but I've seen people do that and they become fucking pop stars of people with addictions for drugs and love and proof that they're loved. Folks with addictions they can't ever fill because that's what an addiction is. An "I need this but I can't ever get enough. I will never be full. That is the irony of my longing."

And everyone gets miserable when they're only seeking things outside of what they can give themselves. It'd be just gorgeous if I could be self-sufficient. I mean, sad-gorgeous. And God knows, a lot people think I am just that--self-sufficient. Most people I know think I have my shit together. So together. Beautiful box filled with shit. Neatly packed. Beautiful ribbons. With a card from myself that says: "Dear Janie, You are all you need."

I don't know.

Maybe I need to make myself even more vulnerable. I say I wear my heart on my sleeve but maybe my sleeves are rolled up.

Sometimes it's all so terrifying. Or mystifying. Sometimes I want back in the non-blooming box. I want to just write, just be friends, just masturbate on my back, thinking about faceless boys and wondering what it'll feel like to get fucked. But now I know what it's like. And I know what it's like to feel modicums of love but it's not enough. It's never enough.

My parents have been married for over forty years.

I rarely mention them here. I come from a family where there are no divorces. There's some resentment, at times. But mostly there's just: what can I do for you? What can I do for you? What do you need? Let me fucking give it to you. Please.

I want to love someone as much as I love myself. And I want him to love me so hard back that we've got no fucking clue what we want as individuals anymore. I want that big, bad, codependent, your breath is my breath, your blood is my blood, my cunt has become a mold for your cock, it's where you put your cock away at night love. That- stare really hard at each other, hold each other's hand kinda love, stare at the hand you are holding for so long that the hands together become totally surreal and absurd objects kinda love, and don't look like hands anymore kinda love, just laced-up together, like one thing, one object, two hands, one thing holding itself, sustaining itself-kinda-fucking-love.

That's all.

That's tonight, anyway.

Tonight while it's raining and my apartment is cold and my heart is warm.

That's it.