Hit play on this video. Watch it for a minute, maybe close your eyes. Get into it, let it soothe you—caress your neck, stroke your hair. Notes flow out like wine and so many cheesy lines, but the grasp is sublime. Once you are feeling yourself, then proceed with this post.
You know that sensation you get when there's absofuckinglutely no place you'd rather be then where you are? When you try and open your eyes wider to let more light in, and you can feel your heartbeat racing like a drummer in the pocket? You are an explorer, your hands are like Spanish expeditions and every square inch of skin is a bountiful conquest. You kiss, shift, kiss, stop, gaze and kiss again. At 4:30 a.m., you text your boss to beg out of work, knowing the jaws of life couldn't tear you away from your current embrace. Sleep is a last resort, a cruel necessity whose only solace lay in the ineffable beauty of waking up next to someone for the first time, still utterly entwined. If she moans when she stretches and struggles to rise, you may as well die. That's heaven.
You look like that.
You feel like this:
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But you gotta get up eventually, get something to eat, perhaps a mimosa—definitely some potatoes and a strong cup of coffee. You get dressed, which is the second hardest part about getting up, hop on your bikes and head out on a side-by-side ride towards Mama’s Royal Cafe. The air is brisk, the sun is poised to burn off the clouds and the hangover isn't so bad when you're sharing it with someone else. Cruising. Satisfied. Pretty hungry. You're almost there...
BAM. YOU GET ROCKED UP. Not able to swerve or stop, I hit the freaking door of a box van and went down. Not terribly hard mind you, but it shook me up, my knees taking the brunt of the impact I stumbled away, rattled but not broken, bruised, but nothing a friend with Vicodin can't displace (thanks blood). The driver apologized profusely, asked if I was alright—but what can you say? "I guess my bike's fine. I'll be okay." There's a metaphor in there somewhere. Something to learn from getting gloriously doored.
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Maybe it's simple: You never know when you're gonna get your world shook up. Serendipity is sneaky; fate doesn't always check its rear-view mirror. There's more though—pleasure is usually coupled with pain.
And for anyone who would like to read between the lines, just know this was my intent: Not to tell a story about falling in love with a girl, but rather being in love with a moment, feeling fulfilled, lucky and sure. Life is long but time is fleeting, and grandiose proclamations of love often prove stifling. I've found its best to keep expectations to a minimum, space to the max and all romantic expressions unconditional. Not to view a first kiss, no matter how inevitable the smooch, a beginning, but rather and end in and of itself.
If you knew those lips, you wouldn't blame me for being overly saccharine, and you might wonder why I'm sitting still. Trust, you do not know how hard it is to chill, but its not games I'm trying to play. Excuse the rhyme, but I'm just trying to take things day to day. And today?