The key is to find the perfect combination of intimacy, companionship and love. A lot of us only got the companionship and love portion and forget just how important the intimacy is. It doesn’t matter if you and your partner are only intimate once or twice a week or twice a month. That doesn’t matter. What matters is the connection that you’ll make during those intimate moments. How it lingers in the brain. On the body. On the lips. How it makes you feel afterwards. The desire. The lust. The fulfillment. I think we forget to still lust for our partners. To still find ways to seduce them and make them feel sexual and sensual, not just sexy. There should still be somewhat of a fantasy world for you and your partner. There should still be an escape. The trick is to find how to create and keep those alive. I still want to be this sexy sexual woman and still raise your kids. Still find time to make dinner. Still be able to do the things that made you fall in love in the first place. What they haven’t added in that triangular formation of what the actual “healthy” relationship should consist of is, contentment. What I mean by that is, the focal point is just solely on the the fundamentals of the relationship not taking into account the stagnation that many relationships reach. Relationships arrive to that place too fast and too often, where there’s no motivation or no desire to want to change things. There’s excuses and resentment building up, communication is just thrown out the window because what’s going to change? How do you chase someone out of contentment? You shake them up a bit. You stir the pot. You become clever in your ways to make them pay attention. And if you can’t pull them out or grasp at them in a way to wake them up…. then be an adult and have an affair for once.
Don’t do that.
It’s hard to pull them out. I am aware. I am currently aware. It’s frustrating dealing with contentment. But it’s work. It was work to get the relationship here and it’s going to be more work to make the relationship work. I wish I had more answers. I wish there was a “build-a-relationship” app that I could make sure my top 3 priorities were actually included in the relationship.
What a lot of us have is just the friendship and companionship.
Why do we try to deny just how important the intimacy part is?
Someone answer me.
Until then I guess I’ll just be… here.
I just love writing. I love to write about love making. I love to write about love. Struggles. Faith. Patience. Relationships. Affairs. Lovers. The rise and the fall of life and love. There’s so much to learn through words. Through experiences. I write to live. I write to love. I write for passion and romance. I write for him. I write for me. I write to always remember. I write to never forget. I write to document. I write to feel. I write to hurt. I just write. I just love writing. It’s everything to me. It’s an escape. It’s a fantasy. It’s realities. It’s a life outside of my own but it’s still mine. I write to make you feel. I hope I make you feel. Something. Anything. I write to reach. I write teach. I’m a writer. And I am so in love with the art of words.
There are so many things that we can do. We can create. We can destroy. We can divide. We can collide. We can combine below horizons. Following the dotted line with our tongues. We can kiss and laugh in between. We can intertwine our legs and fingers. We can make patterns with our lips against skin. We can guess which words escape as moans in our ears. My favorite thing we do is melt into each other. The pressure becoming overwhelming, hands searching for something to grab. We can push the limits of our bodies and enjoy. It’s such a freeing experience when you and I are under waterfalls. Hushed words and closed eyes heighten the senses. The formation of warmth and togetherness is exhilarating underneath sheets. We can count the many times we begin and fall with the number of kisses against necks. We can find different ways to say each other’s names. We can introduce new languages into the softness of thighs. We can do so many things before the sun rises.
I’m really beginning to appreciate the documentation of my thoughts. Like I can literally see myself fighting myself in words. The actual visuals really give perspective to where the mental breakdown lies. It’s amazing. I’m amazing. To watch the self battle the self is an art form in itself. Like I am trying to be someone I just ain’t. But I’m still trying. Fighting against what just comes natural to me. Am I going to be one of those women who finally realize who they are at age 35? Because if so, I ain’t with it. It’s just not ummm appealing to me? Does that make sense? I had this man that I was so in love with constantly talk down to me because I wouldn’t comment on his self growth the way he wanted me to. “Oh you’ll understand when you’re my age” or “you don’t understand because of your age”. It was like his only rebuttal to anything he brought up. The same weak sentences really didn’t bother me. I mean what should someone say on another’s growth? I’m going to comment and give you my thoughts on your inner self? Listen, whatever you find enlightening or progressive in any thought patterns you have I only want to foster that growth. Not hinder it with words you may find to be not as supportive as you expected. We are all very sensitive when it comes to our personal growth. Some want kind words. Some want to boast on how expanding their inner self is so freeing. While others appreciate the silence in which they grow. I had to keep mentioning “baby it ain’t about age, I’m just listening”. Sometimes that just ain’t enough for a man who wants to be applauded for every brilliant thought he comes across. I get it. But it’s subjective to think it has to do with age. We all go through a lot. We all change. We evolve. What you may go through in your early thirties, someone may have gone through in their late twenties. I don’t hinder nor do I expect growth from people. I simply just encourage. Time does not stand on its own, it only matters what you do with the time. Words should be built in the form of ladders to help others step higher in their lives. Maybe that’s what he missed. What he thought I couldn’t comprehend turns out he overlooked what my words were trying to build. Sometimes people really just do not know what they want. And that’s fine. Completely fine. It’s perfectly fine to not know what you really want. Just don’t think another person can’t understand your excitement for your own personal growth because of their age. That’s ridiculous. But I digress. We’ve all loved a fool or two in our past lives, right?
I guess the point I’m trying to make is I hope you see the potential in your personal growth. It doesn’t matter if the next person can’t see it. They don’t matter. You matter. The growth matters. And if you ever want to talk, I’m a really good listener. 😊
Made myself a big cup of coffee. It was struggle getting out of bed this morning. It’s always the same struggle. I just want to rub up against something warm and hard before beginning my day. I should have sent that text last night but I thought too much about it. There was a process I had to go through. In therapy we call it chain analysis and before I grabbed the phone, I grabbed my therapist. I have problems and I am beginning to think that maybe this is just who I am and it’s not about fear. Maybe my spirit needs to be free and this is suffocating. All last night the war between body and mind was constant. I’m tired of revisiting the notion that sometimes love just ain’t enough. It just ain’t. I’m tired of running back to the same thoughts of contemplation. What are we really doing at this point? How is the sea so smooth for you but constantly tossing me around? I don’t understand. It’s 9:30am and I’ve done one discharge. The coffee ain’t kicking in fast enough. I’m wasting time. Take that however it fits. I just hope I know next time things come around. The body never lies, I think that’s what is trying to be taught.
It’s automatic when I melt. Involuntary movements. It’s such a surreal feeling when I hear the intro “Good morning, my name is….”. Do you know how many people share your name that make my heart skip a beat? It’s like a whole lifetime flashes before me stinging my eyes. Oh the nights that I prayed for our beginnings. I want to melt through the phone into the voice that speaks your name. No. The tone is not the same. I’m more than certain there are more differences than similarities in reality. I’m sure the person behind the name could never really evoke the emotions that you actually brought forth but damnit my heart can’t decipher shit sometimes. I would love to say your name once more. Just to feel it on my lips once more. Mouthing each letter between escapes of delight. The taste of two syllables have never been so satisfying. It’s even better when it’s whispered against skin. It’s punishing not having what I thought would’ve been something beautiful. There’s difficulty in keeping a heart that still aches and yearns. You know, I learned how to sow so I’d be able to create new ways to stitch my heart back together. What was the purpose of us meeting? It’s cruel the way life works itself out. Don’t you agree? But I didn’t really want to start conversation again with you, he just introduced himself and it made me smile. I just remember how good it felt to say your name.
He would get so mad, so uncharacteristically mad sometimes. I would look past it only because why am I tending to this man? This man who has made it very clear, crystal clear that this is simply a fair exchange. So what purpose would me healing wounds do? It’s been years. Some soft. Some hard. But the time shared created more than what either one of us cared to admit. And the truth was that even between kisses there were words that weighed. They tugged at our cores. Made us uncomfortable because although we both appreciated the night silence there was something more. The softer years exposed just that. It became love making between the tainted. Fingertips and lips became well acquainted and there was a type of satisfaction that a physical just can’t bring. I think it started the night I made you dinner. I fed you not just with lust and breast and body. I made the mistake of tending to this man one night and it opened doors to a possibility that lovers should never know of. Only doors we know to exist are the ones we’ve held onto for support during intense conversations between bodies. I thought it closed all the way but I never knew you kept it cracked until the other day. And the confusion that I wore was very evident that all these years something was forming before us. I just don’t understand. Why are you so mad with me? Was the love making that good that you forgot about the arrangement? How could you think it was deeper when you walked down the aisle holding her hand? I admitted the mistake was made when love slipped from my lips and landed in your lap as a plate of arroz con pollo. But that was a mistake. We all make mistakes. Are you realizing yours all of a sudden? Because I can’t fathom why you’re so angry with me when you’re the one who said “I do.”