Confession

There is something I have learned over the last year.

I am good at sharing but not my self. No, that is not a typo.

J and I have agreed to open up again and invite others into our world. Before you judge, you should know it's a sign that we trust one another. That love is not possessive. Instead love is patient and ready to move outside the simple definitions you scribble out in the bright light of scrutiny.

Call it an itch. Call it whatever the fuck you want. What matters is how we communicate what we want to one another and the honesty that it takes to stand up and say, "Please, this would make me happy."

I have learned a thing or two, yes. Not about us, but about me. This small box cannot hold me anymore. I want something more and I feel like the time is right to spread my wings and take flight into that deep azure of summer twilight. I am sick of being told it's impossible, that I am too old, that I am too young, that I am too too too.

There are some things I am better at then others. Some things I enjoy more than other things. Like the thrill of being new. Or tasting the forbidden for the first time. Feeling the fleeting thrill of adventure.

Perhaps I will bash around like a junkie after her fix, but who gives a damn. I am escaping the box. I am reaching out and I can feel the wind in my feathers, something far off is calling my limbs to unfurl and get on with it.

I am ready to live.

Come here, I want to touch you.

G.