From the moment I understood what love was, I created a fiction for it in my head. I learned about social cues between people from television and books, and I mimicked their movement, to myself, in my elaborate fantasies that often involved someone real, someone I knew in real life, who was at the time, and would often always be, closed off to me. I was a girl, growing up, very isolated and alone and
wanting very much to be loved, even though I vaguely knew what that actually meant. It's easy to get distracted by the simpler concepts of love when you're young, but many of them still wash over me from time to time, even now, on this day.
As a kid, I was tomboyish while wanting to be beautiful, a romantic whose breasts grew too early and too fast for people to see my heart. The first boy I ever got to like me back I met over one of many summers growing up in a beach town. We had to break up, but I can't remember why, and I remember writing him some sort of note that included the line, "I wish I could pull you to me and everything could go back to the way it was." I remember that one line clearly, partly because I found out that he let his friends read it and their account back to me was something like, "What was this you said about wanting to rip his clothes off or something?" That pretty much highlights the disconnect between being sensual and carnal, an area where I have often wobbled.
You are 18 year old girl
Who live in small city in Japan
Taryn, from
Nightmare on Elm Street 3, said, "In my dreams, I'm beautiful (cocks switchblades in each hand) ... and bad!" In my dreams, well, in my daydreams (I never got the knack for controlling what I did
in dreams), my romantic or passionate musings were always better than what the real world could offer, and not because they were perfect. I put a lot of thought into them. If I liked a guy, I'd fashion whole conversations between us, facial expressions. I'd pour into them what I never had the patience for as a writer, the creation of an entire scene, let alone a room, a street, or a world. Because all I cared about was the
dialogue, I got to pour everything into
that and let that be the vehicle for my desires. Getting someone to hold you or get naked with you was always easier than getting someone to purposefully attend to you in meaningful conversation. Perhaps this is why we often know that our friends know us better and on a deeper level than our lovers ever will.
You heard me on the radio
About one year ago, and you wanted to know
All about me, and my hobbies
My favorite food and my birthday
When I can,
I convert my crushes into friends, and from there to the status of Muse, where I can better appreciate what I find so intriguing about them. I really wish more people did this, or talked about it, because it's such a fun and inspiring way to
fantasize. It's almost more fun to imagine what a person might be like, or what your interactions would be (and I insist you insert flaws and skips to the record to make it real), and the act of this gives me energy, it arouses my mind almost more than my skin, and it pushes me to express things laid dormant under the undulations of daily life. I have done this conversion, with a person I know IRL, enough times to realize that there is a smell and texture to what entices me, it's chemical and palpable and it must be one of the few things that make life alive.
You can't resist her
She's in your bones
She is your marrow
And your
ride home
You can't avoid her
She's in the air (
in the air)
In between molecules of
Oxygen and carbon dioxide
I hope that I never stop having crushes, that I never stop finding new Muses. Having them is one of the interruptions that make me feel most alive.