You are radiant. Kind. Driven. Responsible. Maybe inhibited. Not brazen. Not impetuous. You don’t like to be pushed around. You do respect authority even when that authority dissapoints. You hold back your passion, but in our culture infested by a fastfood instant gratification mentality in every aspect of life this is more a virtue than a flaw.
Your voice rings with affection when you speak on the phone. Like some spiritual blanket emanates from you tucking in, ensconcing the person you are talking to.
You have your insecurities which from my perspective are simply absurd, like a Jaguar wishing to be a plain old domesticated house cat. Yet I respect them because they are just as part of you as any of your other preferences. Without a bit of sour a great wine wouldn’t pack its full punch.
You are pleasantly surprised when male colleages suddenly seek contact with you in the kitchen when you are wearing a red dress. Still too modest to realize your unique brand of magnetism. Irresistible.
You have the body of a gymnast and the straight back of an army officer, but a fluidity in your movements like water nymph splashing about in a mountain lake.
From what I know you are not spending most of your free time binge watching series after series. The favorite passtime of most peopleI know.
Sometimes you go to museums, sometimes to the theatre. To be fit is particularly important to you. But then again, you can’t be labelled a fitness freak either. Maybe you mention tabata so often because in reality you have to really push yourself to go there, which would be normal.
You have a small, but dependable circle of lady friends you spend quality time with. There is the odd position of Samo as something like the closest to a chief confidant. No matter how many times things don’t get amorous, I experience a sharp twitch of jealousy when you mention him. Which shouldn’t stop you, ever, from mentioning him. That’s something I need to deal with, not you.
I feel closer to you when you freely talk to me about your menstruation pain, your – fading- penchant for latino porn. When you talk about your war experiences in Lebanon. Your idea of becoming a stripper. Your mild envy of some overly flirtatious women having ‘options’. Your witty remarks. Your lightening quick responses and repostes. Your smile. Your obvious confusion when I start talking like a guy tripping on a huge hit of XTC when am with you. When you discus your outfit with me. When you show me the clothes you’ve bought. When you talk about your deep seated fear of losing your mum. When you wish me good night. When you call me sweetheart. When you tell me how you love the way I treat you. When you pur mildly and steadily when am sucking and licking your ever so pert breasts with your graceful nipples. If nipples could dress up to go to a sophisticated cultural event they would look like yours. When your mind starts racing and you share one million concerns per minute. When you tell me about your grievances with some of your friends or colleagues and I feel you can and allow yourself to lean on me.
You never make any demands on my time, which I interpret as a sign you are not interested in hearing from me or seeing me. You never push me to do anything, which I experience as almost unnatural or as definite proof that I am just some guy who has so much affection for you that it would be hard to fully ignore him at all times. As though I am so smitten by you that my affectionate energy for you lets me slip through the mazes of your defence system. Only a malignant person would kick away someone showering him/her with an eagerness and enthusiasm to know and appreciate and stimulate and drink in him/her. And you are simply not malignant. Apart from cruel fantasies here and there, you have an inner compass steering you clear away from pathological behavior. Since it’s so authentic you never claim any credit for this characteristic.
You hurt me – always unintentionally – when you assume other women are anywhere near your significance in my life. You hurt me when you imply I wouldn’t be good enough to be introduced to your father (is he good enough to be introduced to me?), you hurt me when you claim I am only so in love with you because I want to fix you. A ridiculous claim since you are one of the most stabile and mentally sane and balanced people I know.
You are always my first thought in the morning. Which feels like the first breath of air after being submerged in water for too many slow ticking minutes. You are always part of my mental landscape. There’s always your silhouet, your face, the promise and experience of your warmth. No matter what other thoughts occupy my mind. Even when I am wondering about such gruesome historic events as the battle of Stalingrad there is you floating over the scene as a a redeeming angel, as proof that the fountain of human life’s primary motivation is to bring beauty and goodness and positive aspirations into this world.
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