Capricious

58 - Baudelaire

"We do not believe in ourselves until someone reveals that deep inside us something is valuable, worth listening to, worthy of our trust, sacred to our touch. Once we believe in ourselves we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight or any experience that reveals the human spirit."
- Edward Estlin Cummings

I can see it in her eyes, I can read it in her soul, I've let her fall for me.

Martinis underground, melting the scene. The ground sparkling like starlight beneath my feet, a fiery glow seeping through its edges, the dungeon walls pale and smooth. Extravagant features sprung with grace, the Spanish wilderness encased within this tunnel. Diverse choices all my own, a feast of new tastes, odd combinations divine. Salmon with flakes of strawberry and seeds of pomegranate, slivers of grilled Ibérico pork, fried aubergine coated with molasses. Chilling through the evening to share old and discover new, wrapped in duvets and each other's arms. Then coming together without armour, bodies fitting together so much easier, the sex so much better, sliding through her bare, bodies radiating pleasure and warmth. Followed by a bedtime fairytale supercharged with humour and guest-stars, soul exuding its random display of madness ever fitting, warming to her company even more, as love for others fades away completely.

Falling out of bed for brunch, a little French café, pastries and coffee to prepare us for the day. All the time my mind showing off, my vast array of knowledge, the creative whims of my imagination, combining both to shower in craze, of poetry and futuristic ideals and stories from adventures had. Acute observations and witty remarks, no fear to share my mind with her, passionately raw in my opinions, dreams of the world, interesting even myself. Sharing stories I didn't think I held, playing off whatever she has to share, and revelling in my quirks all the while. We're playing away in fictitious worlds, and life drips gold.

Being intimately close to another, and closer no matter how much of myself I reveal, it comforts my insecurities, if she doesn't mind, why should I? Playing like children, returning to that paradise of curiosities, experimenting more and more with living, I become completely unafraid. Now I have my life together, no darkness to be found, it's almost too easy, just being carried by the flow. So much more comfortable not being perfect, appreciating myself in all my glory, and becoming more attractive while I'm at it.

Am I entirely confused about what love really is? Is this what it's supposed to be? Yet being with her, the only person I'm falling in love with is myself. She lets me be me, and I adore her for it, but I find I am not growing, and I resent her for it. Giving in to me too easily, I want to be challenged, I want to discover new worlds beyond my imagination. I guess it really is a cycle, between giving and receiving love, needing one before the next, and never at the same time. To have this level of love, I should know now not to accept less love than I give, to let go of relationships that are not healthy, and live in wait that I may encounter love fierce on each side, ever doubtful that I will.

Being loved intensely can often be too much than a person can bear, it can suffocate us, restrict us, and so we reject it in favour of something less, so we can yet be free.

We are attracted to familiarity, a sense of intrigue or unrealised attraction reborn, coming upon it all the time, the resemblance another chance, the features we've become used to admiring, more comforting than those estranged, and so we lose more of ourselves within them, than we otherwise would I'm sure.

Relationships are only as valuable as what they can let you become.

Creating opportunities, following random desire, without a thought of regret, but at great cost. The security of sex igniting shameless desires, my heart lost to the winds of the world, my depressing mind forged from jealous greed. It appears my type of girl and the relationship I desire are mutually exclusive. All I want is to be with my true reflection, instead left surrounded by versions so disfigured. It is my fault for not stepping more, prone to wild explosions rather than sustainable endeavours, and I wonder why that's all I have to show. Spiralling under, craving things that were not mine to live. I seem to have misplaced my life, as everybody does, a ghost to everything around me, logic destroying living. I'm not prepared for any of this, and I ask myself why that matters, and the world responds with one word, power.

It's not simple living but magic I crave, those rare moments of such unexpected intense original ecstasy, when reality becomes better than dreams, when we realise there is something more to life than simply existing.