Love is Many Things
Love is many things.
It’s my yes and her no, spoken with honest kindness on the tongue. It’s how she laughs when, with a hand between her legs, I whisper the wrong thing in her ear.
Love is lying next to each other making ourselves come when we’re too tired for anything else, and it’s the morning sun in her hair that won’t let me fall back asleep.
Love is silence and ease along with screams and struggle.
But don’t forget the sacrifice and the compromise they whisper and don’t forget the tearing and breaking that comes when longing is too hard to bear. Don’t forget the hard choices and the letting go. Don’t forget the agony of love in all its shapes and sizes.
But no one could forget all that, it’s simply not what we choose to remember. Because in every moment of missing her touch there is love. In every moment of worry and doubt, there is a connection to my heart that reminds me of the why.
There is no grief without great love, and there is no longing without a wild togetherness.
Love is his smile that says my loneliness is allowed, and it’s her touch that says I can cry for hours and still be okay. It’s her kiss in the night that rescues me from a nightmare and his hand on my cheek that forces me to see the compassion in his eyes. Love is holding her trembling and holding her in joy. Her bravery and her risk surround me. Her lips on my chest calm me, and her want brings me instantly into the present.
At work, on the subway, alone in the dark, and surrounded by friends, love is the home I struggle to remember. It’s the warm fire and the cooling breeze. Love is the center of the storm that doesn’t shake when everything else begins to fall away.
Love is many things.
The Things We Do For Love
Sometimes I find it amazing the things people do for love.
Sure, we kiss and we write letters. We buy flowers, rub backs, and hold on tightly, but the list keeps on going. We also tie up our partners and spank them until their cheeks are red and tender. We hold back our desires and remain faithful or we bring men home to fuck us while our partners watch.
We come on our partner’s lips and slender necks out of love. We don’t come at all for the same reason no matter how much we desire release. We wear condoms, collars, and leather because love demands it.
We watch our partners and learn how to touch and we listen with our eyes bound and our hands held firmly above our heads. We slap each other (sometimes hard) and we whisper words of comfort in each other’s ears.
Some of us cry for each other and some stand over our partners in laughter. We compliment breasts and bellies and we whisper how he’s so much bigger. We wear short skirts and well-fitted jackets with polished shoes we can barely walk in.
We fuck mouths, feet, cunts, and asses all in the name of love.
Love and Desire
I don’t always know the difference between love and desire. They’re often so intertwined that I mistake one for the other and come out with the wrong string of words.
Fucking you feels exciting and exhilarating with long moments of tenderness and swollen emotions. Is that love? Is that desire?
Writing to you feels sweet and thoughtful with long moments where I have to pause and wrap my fingers around something hard before I continue.
Is that desire? Or love?
Sometimes I remember that naming these things that pass through my mind and heart is less important than feeling them.
Sometimes I kiss you and don’t wonder, and sometimes when I see you’re calling I simply answer.
The Fact that We’re Human
“Why is it that some days all I want is anal sex on a roof, and the next I just want to hold you and cry in your hair?”
“It’s probably something stupid, like the fact that you’re human.”
“That does seem like a ridiculous reason,” I said.
We were lying on the grass in the Brooklyn Botanical Garden, and it was quiet and empty. Her dress had ridden up, and the white cotton she wore beneath it was stained with grass.
“I’m just glad that some days you want to fuck me in a park. On the lawn. With my clothes still on.”
“Well, I’m just glad that you love me and kiss my nose when I’m sleeping. And don’t mind when I come in less than three minutes when we fuck in the park.”
She lay back and took my hand, holding it against her stomach. Her dress was soft, and I ignored the twig in her hair just as she did the leaf in my beard. My hand gently rose and fell on the swell of her breath, as all around us the lightning bugs slowly began to blink on as if just for us.
“Maybe later you can choke me and then we can take a bath,” she said, leaning in for a gentle kiss.
“I’d like that,” I said, sliding my hand up her body to her throat. I squeezed her playfully, just for a moment, and just hard enough for her to gasp and smile. “And then we’ll sleep and pretend the world is fine.”
“And then we’ll sleep,” she whispered, our hands once more intertwined as we lay back on the grass. “But first, let’s count the lights.”
“One, two, three…” we began together.
Warm wishes to you all on this chilly Monday morning. And here’s hoping for love in all its many strange forms.