Such a Cacophony

islandkallipygos:

Don’t be angry about being broken. Being broken means you have the opportunity to pick up the pieces and build a stronger “self base”—a stronger you.

(Source: femejo)

I think there are million possibilities in a hello. The awkwardness of finding love gives hope to those searchers in tones. We listen in for cracking voices, full of tears or anticipation. We read body language and use our intuition to navigate cues—a smile, nod, lashed eyelids pulled down. We smell pheromones, unconsciously, measuring attractions constantly. The nerves in our bodies kick in. We pulse. 

We’re always ready to acknowledge love even if we never speak. 

There is winter. Cold fingers that try and wrap around soft fabrics, or other cold fingers. Hot cocoa on coaches. Talks about last winter, family and food. Thick, rib-knit scarves in bright, beautiful cerulean, lilac, and coral. Rhum Barbancourt in a glass—a spicy warmth dissolves in mouth. Mistletoe, lips on lips, bright red. Arms entangled in sweaters, enveloped around a waist. 

Affection can grow in small spaces. In hours spent indoors, sheltered from blizzards and icicles. In bodies cuddled under covers. In fingers and toes searching for heat. In winter. 

You’re the kind of guy I’d fall in love with. But we can be friends. And I can admire you from afar. I’ll store up all my imaginations—my mind’s photo album. We can have long phone conversations and I can tell you everything BUT… and it can all be platonic. We can develop, become best friends. I can be in your inner circle. I’d love to. We can build our own definition of this connection through secrets and inside jokes and runs and smiles and glances; hugs and hands and whispers at different gatherings. 

And maybe one day I’ll muster the courage to tell you everything AND that I…. and maybe you’ll kiss me, or I’ll hold your hand. Maybe, when we’re in a group chatting or driving somewhere—I’ll pretend I’m tired and rest my head on your shoulder. Maybe you’ll wrap your arm around me, kiss me on my forehead and then I’ll know.

You’re beautiful. Kisses in the dark; no visual except for the shapes formed from your scent. It’s smeared thick on the space between your nose and lip. Your scent doesn’t resemble a flower, or cologne, or detergent, nothing from nature or memories from way back when; memories disconnected from a specific time or place. Your scent is just you. It’s indescribable; no ability to conjure it up with thoughts of missing you. 

Daydreams of you aren’t full without that scent. Without your body here, your lips covering mine. It just won’t suffice. 

Kisses are best in the dark, when these shapes come to life in between us. When your scent smothers me, filling spaces. 

I’ve been “in love” many times. Thinking back on my past relationships, I question whether the feelings I had for my exes were love. I think, for some relationships, I liked that my boyfriend at the time was giving me attention. I clung to the attention that I received (but only from boys I was partially interested in). If he could get me to laugh or blush, I’d be into him. I’d soon find out that we had few, if any, things in common. But by then, I’d be too afraid to break up or to give up the attention I was receiving. 

Now that I am older, I still want love, but I no longer seek that male attention (well, maybe I still do). My last relationship ended poorly—partly because I was tired of the same negative things happening again and again, partly because I fucked up, partly because I truly believe we weren’t meant to be together. I know that there was love in that relationship. I was close to him, but it wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t what I truly wanted in a relationship (or in my man) and I knew that I wouldn’t last in that relationship. 

I’m glad that I am single now. I like being by myself and exploring exactly what I need from my potential man, and what areas I need to work on so that I can keep the man I want to be with. 

I also think that maybe I’m not meant to be with someone. Maybe I’m meant to do something else with my love and passion. Maybe I’m supposed to invest in another area of my life. Maybe that love and compassion needs to go into a group of individuals who need me. Sometimes I think that’s the only kind of love I’ll feel satisfied with, that I’ll feel content and safe with.