“To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.”
Frederico Garcia Lorca, Blood Wedding and Yerma
Ruling emotions change with time. Now, sex and desire have become strong driving forces. I am ascending to my peak, fearful with the knowledge that on the other side of the peak, there is decline. Loss of this life force that so strongly filters, alters, injects into my thoughts and through my body seems unbearable. And so a panicked desperation resides alongside my sexuality, it is no longer leisurely, the time for the most passionate experiences of my life is now.
There are people who come into your life who become a focus for your desire. A shadowy barely legible magnet for the force of your passion which shifts the sands of their being to your liking. Creativity, imaginings, longing, pain all stream through the lines of communications within your body with your knowledge of them, however small that might actually be. It is hard for the noise of others to interject into these sweeping uncontrolled emotions that permeate every moment of your life. Even the whispers of children get lost on the this spiralling wind. When this happens to me, I am overcome, so much so that its hard to actually be in the company of the desired one because I feel it must be so obvious that I am aflame with my want for their touch. Reaching for their love, in whatever shape that might come. Attempting to open myself up and embody the most beautiful expression of feminity so that I might be loved by a stranger. What is it to know someone? Is it enough to have memorised the lines of their body and the timbre of their voice. To have looked into their eyes. Read countless of their words upon a screen. I ridicule myself for my infatuation. It's not real, it's a creation of my mind, an illusion that has served to remind my of my need to be not only the beloved, as in my marriage, no matter how ineptly demonstrated that love was, but to be also the crazed lover. The lover overcome, vulnerable, open and brave.
The lover who risks the pain of not having that love returned, who doesn't keep quiet about their love but attempts to lay its silky fleshy imperfect threads in a near perfect pattern before their chosen one. To find it is left, unravelled, untouched, in its beauty.
Dangerous to love someone thoroughly when you are in the throes of having forgotten about the value of your own heart.