Confession

There has been a lot of talk these days. Reassuring talk. Soothing. But who are we trying to soothe? Me? Yourself? Our own fear seeks out resolution. Seeks the warm of reassurance. Nothing is ever that easy, is it. If only it was like flicking on the light switch.

There are things I like. Things I overlook on purpose. Things that seemed important before, that seem petty now. When did describing the shade of your eyes become more important than a pressed shirt? How easily we women are won.

The moon has been fat and overblown lately. Taunting. I ran in its backwards sunlight a few nights ago. It was the moon from Tennessee. How interesting, that it comes to visit me now. And with it, the memories. Or is it the notion that I have put myself on the slick green of the betting table, gambled myself away as I would an easy mark. I think I have left those nights behind. Well. The emotion. I still can smell the fresh Tennessee rain, hear the katydids on the porch… my heart full like that moon.

But it is the present that has me worried. Skittish.

Last night there was this wave, filling my mouth with wanting. Strong and bitter sweet. Strong and bittersweet. How many days do I have before the moon claims me? How many kisses? How many nights filled with secrets and wanting? Help me. Can you read my SOS?

I want to flee this open sky in my soul. I want to lie in the grass and count the stars… The absurdity of all this has not escaped me. I despise this indecision just as much as you.

What color are your eyes anyway? And no, not brown.

Emotion is one of those tricky things. It can be so false. Calculated on lust’s calculator. Influenced by desperation, that latest “chick” flick. (I am avoiding the theatre, by the way.) I want reality. Does it really happen, where I wake up one morning and realize that this IS real? That there is no need to fake it anymore? Fake it as in faking it NOT being there.

I sound like a rubik’s cube. Jesus. Will someone just take the stickers off already?

And now it’s time for my run. The moon is a bit broken… but regardless. Beautiful. And you know what is most lovely about it? It’s new, each month. New and unfettered by last month… last year… last time I felt like kissing someone for the sheer pleasure of feeling the soft pull of their lips… New.

I want you. I want to know I am safe under that new moon.


G.