How many years did I have to suffer through the agony of wanting to be in love and be in purpose? Because to be human means you are always divided. You are always needed in two worlds. You will always want to be in love because in love is where you touch your soul, the deepest core of surrender that you can, it’s where you get fucked the way you want, it’s where he and I meet and know God together. It’s where everything aches fervently and deeply and it’s ok. Yearning as breathing, as eating, as sleeping.
A yearning like a howling wind of loneliness yet with another person, with him, a yearning that hurts it wants so much, and curling up into his arms at the end of the night I could finally just feel all of it. Feel possessed by something much stronger than me, much bigger than me, could finally let go and slip into a realm where everything is flavor and fluid, lights and sounds, emotions and sensations. Formless love-making on adultfrienedfinder, sinuous and quaking, involuntary shivers, skin rippling like a cats fur at the tip of a finger of each touch.
Hungry and unapologetic, every other element of life forsaken, This Is My Purpose. This man is my whole reason for being, he is my feast, my object of complete adoration (besides thrusting vibrators lol), he is my drug, he is the only thing that is real and everything else was always an illusion. Complete presence, complete immersion into my senses, complete oblivion and saturation in sensation. 100% used up, used, taken, no-separation, Union. Nothing else ever existed, only the fire of our bed and the sweat of our bodies and the scent of your skin and the texture of my lips.
Reintegration into reality the next day was always so hard. The seam between regular life and sex and love was so thick and disorderly and torn and re-torn and re-sewn. Jagged like a doll with her stuffing pulled out again and again. Exiting the bed was like tearing out my soul and leaving it tucked under the covers with him while I went out as an empty cup, unable to be filled by anything but him. It was like drug withdrawal. And oh god when he left, oh dear god in heaven when he left me. Meetings, books on ending relationships and letting go, late night crying and consoling talks with loved ones…nothing helped. Nothing but time. And even time could only create yet another seam, a false rendering of reconnection, more of a reminder of separation than a solution to it.