Love Without Fear

I see you in the darkness I see you in light,

Your words feel like crystals reflective and bright.

You know my true language translated from fear,

This plane is a trial that note is clear.

Some made for shadows to shine in the dark,

Stirring new insight igniting a spark.

Some made for lightness attracting an ache,

Those who are ready a risk they will take.

When light meets with dark a new shade can form

A fusion or parody or maybe a storm.

A love that is free knows not distance or time,

It may be illusive or impossible to find.

But if there’s a chance or hope that it’s near,

You’ll know of its presence.. And love without fear.

Sultry

Part Six (The End and Reflection)

With my bike and lycras strategically packed in the boot, sultry and I commenced our journey north to a motel near her football training oval. I stuck to my plan of staying the night in a separate bed (I may have been a floozy but never a slut), and riding my bike home early the next day.

The indulgent gaze sultry gave me from the balcony as I departed, told me she was wholly captivated by my behaviour: 1) fending off her playful advances the night before and 2) getting up before sunrise to ride my bike home. (I was younger then, so playing the adventurous hero was essential to my pre-mating practice).

I set off at a harrowing pace straight up a mountain because it was ‘bound to be the shortcut home’. I have never made such a poor judgment in my cycling career as I did that day. It took me 15 miles before I accepted my mistake and with head bowed from exhaustion and mortification, I retraced the road directly back to its starting point. The mistake cost me 5,400 seconds. Each second felt like an hour as I marinated in my idiocy.

That ride turned out to be the longest lone bike ride of my career (at the time). I figured that I brought the physical grief upon myself for not ending things with the girl I was seeing at the time prior to allowing myself to have feelings for someone new. Punishing myself on the bike had long been my answer to emotional anguish.

I determined as I collapsed on my bed from heat exhaustion and in severe carbohydrate deficit that I was not worthy of either of these women.

The next week I was single and back on Pink Sofa again just er ‘looking for chats’.

END

Sultry

Part Five

She flew home after our initial wicked weekend and ‘getting to know you’ period (seriously nothing ‘happened’), and the next time we spoke was during my lunch break a couple of weeks later. Sultry rang to ask if I would like to join her on the weekend whilst she played in a football tournament in a town near mine: As in stay in her hotel with her, as in stay in her room with her, as in stay in her bed with her.

I said no I was busy.

She really needed to try harder.

This of course inspired the desired outcome. Turning on her charisma “I really think you need a break, you work so hard. Come on, I am hiring a car and will pick you up Friday night on my way through. It will be fun!” (Spontaneity just kills my resolve - the thrill of the adventure and the unknown). BUT I was officially ‘seeing’ someone else (a rare practice in itself). Obviously I wasn’t that serious though. “Maybe I could stay on the Friday and cycle home early Saturday…” During the call I became acutely aware that it was over with the other person. Well it had lasted 6 weeks.

She arrived late that Friday night in a hired supercar and a low-carb six pack. SHE DRANK LOW CARBOHYDRATE BEER. Being an athlete I was dreadfully impressed. Someone else had actually been sucked in by the marketing of overpriced beer flavored soda water. I threw my bike in the back and she threw me the keys. I looked at her. She cracked open a beer and grinned cheekily.

To Be Continued…

Thought Gasp 4

I am wetting my mouth with a warm import that flies me above the ocean through clouds whose breath embrace possibilities…

…  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  … 

Trapped.

My biggest fear is the feeling of being trapped. I used to have this recurring nightmare where I am desperately trying to fly, my arms flailing about like a drowning child. The harder I stroked the more elevation I could get. However, it required a colossal amount of exertion for not much result. Meanwhile (and this is the worst bit), people were always trying to grip and snatch at my feet to keep me on the ground with them. They didn’t want to let me go and yet I needed to. I would kick and struggle harder, but they would pull me back down. That nightmare stopped a few years back (I think).

Attached to this dream is also a feeling of guilt. I think the guilt comes from having to detach from people or situations that no longer need me. I feel bad that I have to keep gently reminding them (and sometimes not so gently) that they don’t need me and their own path is as exciting and inspiring and easy as mine.

A sickening feeling, even now I find myself desperately trying to wiggle free from the suffocating toxicity of its memory.

…  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  …  … 

Sipping again, I notice a winged insect drowning in my red wine. I dip my finger to it and it climbs aboard and scales up across wrist and forearm through the foliage of my arm hairs. In essence, when the insect is offered help it instinctively helps itself, but does not know when to stop running, up and up, unthinking, just scuttling through the foliage… (Doesn’t it know it is dry enough to fly?)

So I give it a quick burst of my breath, then it realises its wings are dry and it flies…

I think most of us want to help others in need, but when we know it is time to move on it is our responsibility to initiate the move and allow others to fly alone.

I had that nightmare again last night.

Sultry

Part Four

After she finished disentangling her life, Sultry took a quick sip of her tepid latte and asked way too suddenly “So what about you?”

Don’t you hate that?!

 It’s like dragging a stunned audience member from an Irish show onto the stage and expecting them to riverdance. I had been so completely absorbed by her hectic ramblings that me, myself and my life in narrative had vaporised. I was nothing more than a couple of suction punctures on a cranium, a spongy speechless scamp. I stuttered out a few routine sentences about my latest floating occupation.

Distracted by a burnt tongue (from sipping fervently whilst exhibiting wild enthusiasm for her life accounts), I fortunately had an exit strategy: it was lunch break. After politely excusing myself, I power walked back to work, certain I had dusted my chances of a beach vacation.

Sultry was interesting, I was dull. First dates are like job interviews – go prepared. And I usually do. Usually so suave. Usually the conversation driver. Not used to the missus taking over like that.

Amazingly, she had found my lacked preparation and nippy exodus dazzling. Several text messages later (and one short airport summit) I learned quickly that: less was more (for a girl like her). I was admittedly a little bit hooked on her too. She was crafted so perfectly from an Australian mould: blondey hair, whitey grin and biggy biceps! I don’t mind a shapely woman, but when an athlete walks in a room I am a goner. Finished. Ruined.

But the thing about her (that got me in the guts) was a passionate, misdirected glitter she used as part of her trained surface appearance. Meanwhile, a destructive liquefying boulder was idling just below, waiting to detonate. A menacing wild beast with a twinkly smile in designer threads, she attracted chaos to her personal life out of boredom. She thought I was bad. The longer it took her to realise otherwise, the healthier my tan would be.

To Be Continued...

Sultry

 Part Three

Remarkably this new chick was even more captivating and stunningly good looking than the first. I am talking same altitude as Hot Stuff.

I had finally channelled my inner les-beacon and was attracting sub-tropical fembots like moths to a zapper.  I was so knee deep in self-awe, I didn't stop to consider the possible two degrees of separation.

(Anyway, as I was so very intrigued with my first suitor, I still  met with Sultry as per our initial arrangement). The meeting was tiring but in a good way. Remember those toys that you pull the cord and they release a clever sentence? She was one of those, except the sentence never finished. I think she had perfected circular breathing because she didn’t even pause for breath. It wasn’t a nerves thing either. I just think she carried around a lot of words and hot air. Maybe that’s what happens if you live in the tropics for long enough. Much like watching a reality TV series, I just pulled the cord and she unravelled her latest chronicle.

To Be Continued...

Sultry

Part Two

As it turned out, my sultry suitor had an important business meeting locally and was flying south in a matter of days, so of course we planned a meeting of our own.

This is where the tale starts to get knotty (typing slowly now so I can keep up). I was in fact theoretically dating a feisty Italian at the time (who will justly receive her own dressing down later, thus extricating me from the crimes I was fantasising about committing). Also, with the recent addition of a new stalker-pseudo-ex to my fan folio, the value of my dating credibility was steadily diminishing (for the risk-averse types). Having freshly undertaken Juggling 101 class in an open relation with yet another ex, I was up for a test and way overdue for that seaside sabbatical.

24 hours before Sultry and I were to meet, I received (oddly) another Pink Sofa private message from within the same municipality! Having NEVER chatted with anyone from this region, the odds of meeting two lesbians from there were next to impossible.

I knew I was interesting but this made me special too.

To Be Continued...