It’s Not About Sex

The other night, while was lying in bed, I suddenly realized that what I miss, more than anything, is spending the night tangled up with someone.

It’s not the sex I miss. I miss the trust and the intimacy.  The closeness.

It’s been too long.

Really too long.

I actually wish I could say that I don’t remember the last time.  But that would be a lie.  I do remember the last time.  And remembering it, really thinking about it, still makes me well up with tears.  For lots of reasons.

Anyway.  I miss that.  A lot.  A. LOT.

More than the daytime hours companionship. More than having someone to lean on. More than I should.

And ever since I started to think about it, I can’t seem to think about anything else.

Not good.

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3 Comments

  1. I am a firm believer in making sure any relationship has the power to stimulate my mind, provide thoughtful conversations along with the security of tangling the sheets. Intimacy means so much more and lasts much longer over time.

  2. It’s Autumn now
    so I pull down boxes of sweaters and coats
    still too warm to wear
    but it’s good to be prepared.
    It will happen soon enough,
    a chill in the morning air
    but I won’t be caught off guard
    this time.
    I rummage through pockets, an old habit
    not sure what I’m expecting to find,
    a treasure, maybe
    a reminder of something lost.
    I slip on my father’s old coat
    my mom gave me,
    after he died before she did.
    It’s too big for me (of course)
    but it feels good
    as if I’m playing dress up
    pretending to be all grown.

    It’s been a few years now since the divorce, and
    opening boxes makes me sad for some reason…
    It’s just that there’s been a lot of packing and unpacking since then,
    anchorless.
    Most of the clothes in the boxes she bought for me.
    She understood my style.
    Well, she created my style is more like it.

    All the pockets are empty.

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