“My nerves are turned on.
I hear them like musical instruments.
Where there was silence, the drums,
the strings are incurably playing.
You did this. Pure genius at work.
Darling, the composer has stepped into fire.”
– Anne Sexton

The streets I walk are laced alone with autumn.
Sanguine fruit, the glorious decay of day turned bittersweet;
I willingly bask in your absence, and there, I am insatiable.
I count the lovers after you. With seething eyes I watch them writhe.
Embraced by a naked darkness, I ask myself: Why can’t you flourish?
Already, I know the answer: they are not quite as succulent.

Embraced by a naked darkness, I ask myself: Why can’t you flourish,
Sanguine fruit, the glorious decay of day turned bittersweet;
Already, I know the answer: they are not quite as succulent.
I count the lovers after you. With seething eyes I watch them writhe.
I willingly bask in your absence, and there, I am insatiable.
The streets I walk are laced alone with autumn.

He left for the mountains in the Victorian countryside. A train and two hours brought him back to me. When you pine for someone or something, time willingly stretches itself to fill the cavity of absence. It is one of those things you possess, but do not always have. It is carved by companionship, by affection, and appears only when you are apart from something dear to you.

He was gone for four days.

In that time, I became a kind of fading daylight. A waning moon. I walked around to the back of the house and slipped the key into the lock. My hand on the doorknob to my room; the creak of its aging and there he was again, in my presence. We held each other for a little while, there in the center of my room. He rolled a joint for us and like rag dolls we lay half-entwined on my bed. Dreamy, white haze filled the space. We questioned our hunger and decided to take a walk to the cheap Vietnamese restaurant I had discovered. We carried the bags of take-away down Sydney Road. Our wrinkled palms, the sound of his voice after mine in the cold air. I smiled. The menu he gave me to keep was folded in my back pocket. On the wooden floor of my room we sat cross-legged, shoving our mouths with plastic forks and spoons. Coriander and red chili. Rice noodles. Bright orange julienned carrots. Little slivers of mushrooms. The door was left ajar.

“Should we shut the door?” I glanced at him, feeling my lust rise like heat.
“I don’t know. Should we?” He grinned with eyes of desire.

I stood up and pushed it shut. How eager he was. With my foot, I slid the containers of half-eaten food away from his mattress. I fell upon him with my lips and my tongue. His shoulders embraced me, the muscles contracting, harder it became. We had already undressed each other with our eyes and now, with our fingers. I had not even stripped bare and he was ready to consume me. He positioned my legs above his waist and pulled my body downward, now caught in his gravity.

I sigh and sigh, like blissful flames.
Our bellies were full. Our hunger,
satisfied.

  1. Graduated High School
  2. Accepted into many universities, but enrolled at Rutgers University
  3. Accepted into Demarest Hall
  4. Randomly put into a Cultural Anthropology class
  5. Tried mushrooms for the first time with Jiyun, Summer 2009
  6. Became thriving extrovert at college, tried more drugs, pseudo-sexual activities
  7. Lived in Montreal for three months in the Summer of 2010, independently
  8. Lost my virginity in July 2010
  9. Became more sexually active and sexually liberated, end of 2010 – 2011
    10. In love with Sam S. for a year or so
    11. “Sexually Fervid Summer” 2011
    12. Exposed my true feelings to Sam, traveled to Greece, August 2011. Turned 20 in Santorini.
    13. Entered relationship with Kyle Mezzacappa
    14. Traveled with Kyle, realized we aren’t travel compatible and accepted our fate.
    15. Rejected from the JET Programme
    16. Kyle and I broke up after nearly 2 years. Realized how confined I was. Slept with close friends, reignited sexuality and felt liberated.
    17. Adopted Mu the kitten.
    18. Realized life was becoming complacent, randomly chose Australia
    19. Almost became an Au Pair, it didn’t work out so I flew to Melbourne
    20. Stayed at the hostel recommended to me by someone in Sydney
    21. Met great people like Tina who taught me polyamory and Devin, who I later became intimate with. Met so many people from all over the world!
    22. Moved into my own space, and had to do a lot of growing up.
    23. Got my own jobs, paid for my own rent/bills/phone/food everything for the first time, independently.
    24. Hearing Sylvia talk about scuba diving, feeling passionate about trying it.
    25. Flight booked home for end of July. Enjoying being single, meeting people, trying things.

Can you explain to me, in that logical way you do things, all of the reasons why you can’t be my lover?

I wake up and there you are, sitting at the edge of my thoughts, grinning.
You’re the last one in my mind before I am drawn into somnolence.

Summer is coming again; you will call out to me.

When I look at you, I see the ripening fruit of our youth. You and I, comparable to the constant yearning of the sea to the shore. I will always call out to you: rush over me, rush over me. I have surrendered myself to this moment of infinity. I am growing through you. “More than scarlet,” I say to your deafening absence, “…more than the tangerine hue of the waning summer. More than the sound of you and I dreaming in the same room. I love you more than this.” There was once a song that pulled my body to yours. This is the moment: our hands flustered and searching. We kissed each other over and over, insatiably, like a hunger that could not be satisfied. I want to live in this eternity where you are always.

him: tonight u doing anything?

me: All i’ve got to do today is pick up shit from my friends house that I left over the weekend. Aside from that nooothing. I’ve got work at like 1045 tmw morning though.

Me: Chu doin

him: ok cool! well ive got fuck all planned apart from moving! so how about once ive finished with that we can meet up for a smoke or summin?

me: yeah sounds good man

me: send me a text, or call or whatever you’d like
 
him: maybe watch a movie

me: haha “watch a movie”
me: haha just kidding
 
him: haha hey

me: lmao
 
him: that honestly wasnt
me: hahahahha
me: it’s all good ;)
 
him: hahahha
me: talk to you later
 
him: we will see :)

I make note of the freckles and tiny marks strewn across your soft white torso. There is a mole just above your right hipbone. I place my fingertip on it. Kyle had one there, too. I begin to think up names for these newly discovered constellations upon your astral body. A Smiths album plays in the background, rotating on the lopsided record player. Morrisey’s voice fills the room with his bittersweet voice. The light of morning seeps in around the sides of your window shade. I run my fingers through and through your thick, wavy locks. Your eyes are shut. Mmm, you moan. We are naked. How did I get here, the thought drifts through me and dissipates somewhere between our bodies. I recently learned that time spent completely nude with another human being should be cherished. Why distract myself from this beautiful moment to think about how I got here? This is where I belong and here is where I am. My fingers run along your chestnut hair, tender and firm. I smile at you, closed-eyed and dreamy. I want to take everything in. To soak up the moment. I fill myself with the image of your wondrous nakedness, long-limbed and almost hairless. The sweet scent of us lingering in the air after we’d made love. And how we were surrounded by all the film photographs of your travels through Europe. Your journeys, tangible, dangling across twine. Our little universe reverberates with a serendipitous awareness: that we found each other, and we simply enjoyed each others’ presences.

In Milan Kundera’s, “The Unbearable Lightness of Being,” Tomas, one of the main characters, comes to this conclusion:

Making love with a [wo]man and sleeping with a [wo]man are two separate passions, not merely different but opposite. Love does not make itself felt in the desire for copulation (a desire that extends to an infinite number of [wo]man) but in the desire for shared sleep (a desire limited to one [wo]man).

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