It’s a wonderfully perfectly serene rainy night here along the Carquinez straits.
Even with a burgeoning cold, I couldn’t resist spending a little while on the deck overlooking the water. Completed with a glass of BV Tapestry, Miles Davis‘ “Dig” on my turntable at a volume low enough not to drown out the patter of rain, and a book on my Kindle.
And that is where I came across this quote – at once loving as it is grotesque in detail.
Love was over, and her man was sleeping beside her.
She smiled a little in the darkness, his seed still trickling with slow warmth from between her slightly parted thighs, and her smile was both rueful and pleased, because the phrase her man summoned up a hundred feelings. Together, in this darkness floating to sleep, they were like a distant blues tune heard in an almost deserted nightclub, melancholy and pleasing.
It brings to mind the question which has haunted me since I was a child.
The age-old question for which there really is no universal answer.
What is love?
It’s a question which everyone has to answer for herself or himself because it really is different for everyone.
What I’ve experienced in my life as love is different from what you’ve experienced.
That doesn’t mean there aren’t similarities. For most of us, yes, there are general themes and features which we’ll all experience. For some of you out there, love means something completely alien to you from what it means to me.
But the most common thread woven through all of it is finding someone who somehow miraculously understands your love the way you understand theirs.
Yes, the rain makes me sappy. So does the wine combined with a head cold. But it doesn’t make me any less sure that I’ve found my one person.
My woman. The one I can share the best and the worst. The beautiful and the grotesque. The ethereal and the biological.