Love, actually

So what did I do this week? Oh, nothing much! I've only gone and fallen in love again! And so, alas, my head has run away once more, and my happiness is affected by the company of another, on the frequency of her texts, on her state of mind and pleasure/displeasure with me, blissful when laying in her arms, in the first hour of the glow of our morning goodbyes – and slow, slow torture when apart, the minutes pass like hours, my mind just rushing to a picture of her, no words to accompany it, just a longing for that presence, that touch, that smile. Such is the rollercoaster burden of my sort of love!
    I go to Subway every Friday, pretty much religiously, 'cos that's when the one sandwich I can eat – the tuna – is 'Sub of the Day' and I've kind of got a liking for it; there's one just in the shopping centre near my shop and I generally always go there. Ten days ago, however, I was, by a strange mixture of thwartations and synchronicities and wrong turns in a totally different and unknown part of this marvellous and beautiful city of Leeds when the appointed hour came and I hit the Sub there (there are so many in our gorgeous town). And there she was: a vision of radiant, warm smiles and child-like joy and beauty; a cheeky chimpy face with happy/sad eyes; a long, voluptuous body under t-shirt and cap (okay, I couldn't make that out – but I know now); and a shock of red hair (dyed; a new one for me). I felt instantly dirty, in need of a hair cut, wishing I had more clothes; I wanted to be beautiful for her too. She said to me, "what would you like?" – and all that echoed in my head was, "you, you, you…" I left a shaken mess, a six inch chicken on white in one hand and a chocolate chip cookie in the other, which I quickly donated to a man asking for change for a cup of tea (eating neither sugar nor meat myself) while I wondered how long I could wait to return for my tuna, and for another look at her, and whether or not I needed to make up some story to explain my behaviour – which I quickly realised was ridiculous, but which I found incredibly hard to resist. I returned – I waited twenty minutes – and was better, a bit more composed, a bit more together – even managing some small talk (God knows what I said) and it turns out (God knows how we got on the subject) that we had a mutual friend through my dad's guitar shop, and that gave us something to laugh about, and she knew the shop, and plays guitar and sings, and I said I did too, and went to this certain open mic, and she said, oh, that's just what I've been wanting to do, and I said, well how about this Wednesday? and – well the rest is history. A beautiful, beautiful history.
    Before Wednesday, though, I ended up near her place and bumped into her on the street; we chatted and she invited me in for a cup of tea and we chatted some more. We got on brilliantly. We laughed, and flirted, and later on we went upstairs and talked until the early hours, me laying on the floor, on beanbags, and her on the bed peeking down at me, and at some point I was laying there and I could basically see my body climb up out of me and slide on to the bed next to her – a bit like the energy that comes from people's chests in Donnie Darko, preceding their movements; I get that quite often – and though I resisted it at first, after a bit the resisting started making me feel weird and not talking so right – the denied impulse leaking out of me in other ways – and in the end I just told her what I wanted to do (thinking of how one of my volunteers had just that day been going on about men not making moves and that they should) and she smiled and said, "you can do that." And on I hopped, and cuddle soon followed, and noses began to reel each other in, until noses were barely an inch apart, and when I glanced down and saw her lick her parted lips in preparation I knew we were going to kiss – and we did.
    Oh, Sedona, what delights in your mouth and in your body! What joy at the ease in which we came together, and at how good and fun and great it was! What – and I mean this sincerely – a wondrous lover you are; how much I thrill at the thought of every inch of you, love to see you in your morning knickers, want to always be kissing your back and neck and thighs. And how great you are as you, too: your laughter, your energy, your passion and interests and zaninesses in our late night cuddled conversations; your understanding of emotions, of the workings of them, of the way you know yourself, and know how to do the right thing, even when you've done the wrong thing; how did you learn all that at your young age? A woman that apologises – what a refreshing and welcome change! A woman that can blow her top while shopping and not getting the shoe compliments that she wants – the ones that bring to mind bodily insecurities (bodily insecurities that make this boy want to cry with frustration, so beautiful and flawless is that body of hers) – but five minutes later realise what she's done, and say sorry, and laugh about it, and go back to happiness and smiles – and shoe shopping – rather than the several hours of black cloud and blame that I'm used to. Oh boy, is she good – although, actually, "awesome" is the word that seems to keep springing to mind when I foolishly tell my friends and family about her in my exuberance and glee. Awesome.
    I spent about eighty percent of my free time with her last week, and I'm seriously liking her a lot. I would say I was in love – and love, even – but I know I can't say those things to her face: girls freak out at that, think it means things that I don't mean it to mean; think it means I want something from them, want to tie them down, give them babies, get them wed, have them say it back – when all I'm really saying (in "I'm in love with you") is "I think you're incredible, and I love spending time with you," and (in "I love you") "sometimes, when I hold you close, or look at you, I feel love inside of me, in my heart, like a warmth, and a glow, a tenderness and happiness at knowing and being with you." But I know I can't say those things because, I guess, words are too loaded – and who would understand anyway? And, even though it's clear she likes me – and likes me a lot, I would venture to add, although I've no idea how much, she never says, and plays it mostly pretty cool – she's also made it clear that she's not looking for a relationship (well, neither am I) and though I'm not sure what that means – since it looks like we're sort of in a kind of one anyway – I've been happy to take it day by day, not really bothered about calling it anything – because what could I call it? In any case, it looks like we've become pretty inseparable, pretty quick – rarely two hours go by even when we're apart when one or the other isn't sending some text – and I'm just grateful and happy for what we have, no matter where it leads, or ends up, or goes. Except, of course, I would like it if my head were a little more free of thoughts of her, of needing contact, of always wishing to be by her side! I don't know where that kind of thing comes from; I guess that's the downside of 'being in love.' I worry, too, that maybe she's using me, for my company, for my loving – sure, I fill a hole, if you'll pardon the expression (I meant a hole in time, in male companionship, in affection and laughter and cuddles) – but, well, does that alter the fact of the good things I get from this? I like the love I'm feeling, and I like who I'm being with her; she makes me feel like a nice guy; she heals me of some of the things from my past, with X and Y; she makes me feel hopeful for the future, that I've progressed, that I deserve someone good; and she cleans away my past, makes me feel like I'm starting anew. What if I'm left with broken heart? What if I have been used? Will those things change – or will I just be temporarily sad, and feel that absence painstakingly but delightfully close to my surface and my heart (you know, ultimately I guess any true feeling of heart is good in the long run, because it's what I'm about) and be left with just the good things? In any case, she's leaving Leeds at the end of this week, and I haven't been able to look beyond that, and a big part of me thinks that will be the end – so perhaps all it is and all it ever could be is a glorious flash in the pan romance that gives us both something good (I don't know what she takes from it; I hope and assume it's something good) and leaves us better people for the future. In the meantime we have a few days left together, for laughter and giggles and more, and a man's got to happy and grateful with that.
    I've many endearing images from this week; none more so than the one from early Friday morning, of me sitting cross-legged at the far end of her bed tapping away on her laptop while she slept gorgeous and beautiful off to my right, typing out that boy/frog/forest story to be ready for when she woke; we'd fleshed out the plot together a few nights before – it was for some project she was doing; she knew I was into writing – and I'd promised to put it together. I loved doing it there in the early morning gloom, my two great loves, writing and woman, her accepting and undisturbed of my other passion – not all have been – and me lost in my work, focused on that, but able every now and then to look up and gaze on that beautiful snoozing form cuddled down in the duvet and feel contentedness in my heart before returning to the keys. In a way, that moment, it's almost the perfect life for me; it gives me a taste of what I want; it shows me what's possible. Sure, some day soon she will be gone – but how wonderful it is to have shared what we have in just these few short days in which time has lost all sense of reality anyway.
    I didn't want to write any of this because I know Perlilly and some of her friends will be reading, and that's partly why I wrote so much about women this week, because I've had woman on my mind, and a desire to express, and therefore it's kind of leaked out in a different way. I need to write, though, and I don't think I can suppress it – even if it means losing another. Luckily, though, I'm getting quite adept at twisting things a little. The other reason I wrote about women was because I feel like I'm having a fresh start, and wanted to have a bit of an emotional and mental clearout by telling my old story, as sometimes seems to work. It wasn't really what I expected – too coloured by my need to express what is currently going on – and I was thinking there'd be more in there about, say, my upbringing in the feminist "caring, sharing nineties" and how hearing statements like "every man is a potential rapist" as a small boy sort of shaped me and made me ashamed to be a man. But then, that really is an old story, and one I've told plenty of times, so maybe life is tired of hearing that one from my lips. In all, it was kind of fun – if a little vague at times, perhaps, and maybe too bigging-myself-up as a nice guy (well, I am a man; it's what we do) – though I was expecting a bit more feedback, what with all that sex talk ('cept you can always rely on Stellaluna to come up with the goods). Still, I did move one lady reader to say, "I want you to know that it will be with a REAL pleasure to give you the best orgasm of your life again and again and again"…
    And now I'm off to work – forgot what else I was gonna say; sure there was more – something about Kerouac, and the fiftieth anniversary of 'On The Road', and the new scroll version, and that damned 'Into The Wild', and how it seemed like something was in the air, and how I feel it inside of me too, and how the time is getting ripe – and maybe something about my dad, but not sure what that was – and lunch with my mum – first ever lunch! – and how that was jolly nice – and, also, I left facebook (even though it makes myspace look like some angelfire page from the eighties) because it just seems like a big waste of time – but, like I say, I've forgot all what else and I suppose it'll have to wait for another day because my mind is filled with Sedona and – damn! – what a fine, marvellous, awesome woman she is but – oh! – how such a big, big part of me longs to shake myself free (and how another part doesn't) and I guess that's all just the way it is when you choose to go the way of falling, falling, falling in love and being blessed with a psycho-spiritual make-up such as mine. Oh love, how I love thee! But – oh, love – what you do to my head is a crime! Set me free, foul beast – no, bless me more; I can take it – no, give me peace – but, no, I'll miss my love – but mind – but heart – but…love.
    S'been a long time since I've written about love. Seems to make me talk gibberish too. Cheers!