I went to bed last night tired but smiling. Alone but warmed by her love. I slid into a bed that was once so lonely warmed only by blankets. Now she is with me. Perhaps not physically. I have not been blessed by that…yet. But I feel here there. Her body close against mine. Her thoughts with me. Her heart beating within my chest. Her soul mingled with mine. Three precious hours we were together tonight. And in those three precious hours she had loved me and spoiled me. Filled my heart and mind with her caring and with her passion. Shown me a world of wonderful possibilities and dreams which I still feel I will never deserve. She caressed me with her words. Lifted me up and drained me. I keep telling her how she is mine and mine alone. Yet with every precious night we spend together I grow more and more her own. She knows this and it binds her to me even more.
We live in a strange world here on Achat. A world where we reach out from our own lives out of curiosity, or loneliness, or simply a need we cannot explain ourselves. Whatever the reason, something is missing and here we reach out to find it. Sometimes it is simple as having someone to pass the time with or simply for a few hours being the person you secretly want to be. Free. Open. Sexual. You meet people, you talk, you make friends, and sometimes – and this is a very rare and magical sometimes – you meet someone that you cannot forget. Not for a day. Not for a second. Someone you have dreamed of all your life. Someone who you feel inside you. Someone you would give the world to touch, to kiss, to hold for the briefest of moments and forever. And – even more rare and even more magical – that one special person feels the same about you. You are with them. And despite all the world and what the mirror tells you, you are intelligent and sexy and wonderful. That is how I feel now.
If this was your lover or your wife you would come home with flowers, opera tickets, perfumes, stuffed animals, serve her breakfast in bed, rub her shoulders… a thousand simple ways to tell her how wonderful she is. But we are here. There are no flowers to send. Just words. Words that have been used and wrung out and used again. Words she has heard before by lovers, liars, gypsies and thieves. (You know who you are.) How in the world do you show her what she means to you? How you feel yourself flying through your day. That you cannot stop thinking of her. Her lips. Her legs. Her fingers in your hair. Her body pressed mercilessly under yours. All you have is your words and somehow they are never enough. She tells you that you give her all she needs and more. But it is not enough. You are a man, and that is how she makes you feel. You should be keeping her warm, throwing yourself in front of bullets, laying the world at her feet, moving furniture. Spending every moment making her feel to be filled with roses and adoration as you do everything a frail and flawed mortal man can do to make her feel like a woman, a queen, a goddess, a wife.
But you are here. And all you can give her are words.
