Perhaps You Love Me
Perhaps the first time she heard the words “I love you,” they were pure. They weren’t connected to a raised hand or unfaithful lips. They carried warmth every part of her had trusted. Love had meant something beautifully desirable to her ears.
Perhaps the first time she received a gift, it was a celebration, not an apology. The item reflected how well someone understood her, how much someone cared. It wasn’t a bribe to excuse her pain. Someone showed her how grateful they were just to have her in their life.
Perhaps the first time she let someone do something for her, they enjoyed being helpful. They didn’t expect a claim over her innocence in return. They relieved her of a burden, because someone loved her enough to do so.
Perhaps the first time she was held it was comforting. It wasn’t a restraint holding her back. It wasn’t a mark she had to cover up. It was affection. There was safety and security at the beginning. Someone dried her tears and held her hand like she was the most precious thing they could have touched.
Perhaps that is why she needs time. She needs someone to keep showing up, giving her undivided, positive attention. She needs dates, even if they’re talking on a blanket under the stars. The only love she can trust is the one that grows in time. The one she can see, hear, feel, know time and time again. The one without room for deceit. They are either there, or they are not.
Affection is the Affliction
It’s a touch, holding hands,
a fleeting breeze on the cheek.
A gentle whisper in the ear.
Giving comfort to those who suffer
washing their feet and resting them
on soft pillows.
Long deep intellectual conversation,
learning the mind and soul of the opposite.
The closeness of heartbeats.
Affection is the Infliction.
There's something
in your presence
the atomic
alarm clocks
and danger
signals
that say,
if looking
could kill then
come Hither;
and the sirens
of the Heart
pour straight
into your ear;
maybe its
the wind....
in the gears
of the mechanism
stuck and struck
at think O'gain!
And looking back,
there's acceptance
in sound silence...
a tolerance
in the arms
to be tested
and filled so
we'll search...
for the lopsided
that was dropped
and left behind
in the 'bods
buried at the
draw bridge
where shadows
dig
through
old signposts
and detours
that have led
to this import...
at which you stand
holding the starting
gun with ready
set ejected,
and waving
in said direction--
On ward!
for the
I-don't-knowing
that will keep us
trying to find
for you,
the right
wording.
05.07.2023
Your love language challenge @sushi_trash
Comment je t’adore.
late night talks, car rides, small gestures. Spending time with you, seeing that smile brightens my day. How I adore your laugh. How I adore you.
I adore your touch, I adore your attention.
I adore caring for you, I love seeing that healing smile of a man who was never loved the way he deserved
You make me smile when nothing else can, you are my stone and my ever burning love.
You Enjoy the touch, You enjoy the talks, You enjoy my presents.
You make sure I know i'm loved, You make sure I know how thankful you are for me as I do for you.
Before you I wrote off love and anything that came with it, but you showed me that, Touch, Time, And care are okay to give and to need.
You showed me that love dosent have to be loud and harmful, you showed me the beautiful side of love, and you have for all these years.
Powerful silence
Carefully, gently
proceed with loving intention
Revel, pause, understand and treasure
Every expression never mentioned.
Diligently now, do not hesitate
Any pause will cause alarm.
Confidently, quickly, assure me, silently
One moment creates a world of calm.
Be still at first, don’t turn me away
Movement suggests disdain.
Acknowledgement isn’t necessary, acceptance is,
You use your words in vain.
On the brightest days, through every thunderous rain,
There is nothing I value as much.
The quiet sincerity and attentive care,
That shines through the love language of touch.
Understand?
My love language is understanding.
It's simple and stupid and compassionate and feels rather impossible at this point.
I think it's been this before I was even born.
I'd say it's physical touch or affirming words but what does any of it boil down to
But that you are known well enough by the other that they know just what you might desire
And give it freely, without reproach?
My family has tried and friends have tried and I will try and fail again and again.
To love me enough that it may finally be fully felt,
Yet even I struggle with granting my own self acceptance.
I love the fact that people try to care for others and do all they can to help and I
Understand this desperation to be loved
In my very bones.
I know it, as it knows me.
I set a path aside from it, leave it to come if it so chooses.
I think the love in fairytales is pretty and simple and blindingly extraordinary
But I think I'd be happy to just have someone
Who looked at me -
All of me -
And beamed like they'd been given the moon in the palm of their hands,
Magic and stardust at their very fingertips.
Simply see me and
Love me anyway
And I'm yours,
I'm yours,
I'm yours...
While He Waited
There were two things Vito Monti didn't believe in: love and by extention, being a touchy-feely guy.
When he saw Kevin Cleary for the first time, that all changed. Vito found himself falling. Hard.
If Vito had met him back in college, things would be different. Maybe they'd meet at a dorm party. Vito would speak with him, get to know him some before he welcomed Vito's touch. Vito would lean up and whisper into Kevin's ear, "Wanna go back to my room?"
Vito imagined the pale skin of Kevin's earlobe turning red. "Yes," Kevin would whisper back, his voice soft and breathless.
A shot of hot arousal would pass through his groin (much like it did just now). Vito would take him by the hand and lead him through the halls back to his dorm room. He'd press Kevin's skinny ('Maybe a bit too skinny,' he thought, concerned) body against the door. Vito would loop his fingers through the belt loops of Kevin's beige slacks and gaze through the lens of his black-rimmed, rectangular glasses and into his warm, hazel eyes. He'd call Kevin beautiful, tell him just how much he wants him.
"I want you, too." Kevin would say. "I want you so bad."
Vito would ask Kevin what he wanted, exactly. He'd do anything and everything Kevin wanted. All the while, Vito would reach up to play with his red necktie. Kevin would answer, then Vito would caress his narrow face and freckles before he leaned up, meeting Kevin halfway in a slow, passionate kiss. He'd finally get a taste of those plump, pink lips and run his hands through Kevin's curly, red hair.
Unfortunately, they weren't students in college. They were in a shared therapists' office. Kevin was one of the therapists. Vito was his client.
