segunda-feira, 15 de junho de 2020

Version 2.042

I had a to-do list for this weekend, which I have yet to complete, and I am not sure I am going to make it. I veered off my path sometime today and went down memory lane. I was looking for my Rock in Rio CD, which I cannot find after so much moving that I have done; instead, after random trials of sound, I played Sarah McLachlan's Fumbling Toward Ecstasy.

It had been a few years since I had heard it back to back. I grew up so much while listening to that album and her music that listening to it now feels like visiting an old friend. One of my ex-boyfriends cannot play her, for his wife assumes that he is thinking about me, if he does.

It was my second American boyfriend who got me into her. He was completely enthralled with Sarah McLachlan and we would lie in his bed listening to her albums and trying to decipher her lyrics. As a man, the thought that she might be bisexual was very exciting to him. I was indifferent, but I liked the music.

It made me smile to see him giddy with excitement about the things he loved. His eyes would sparkle and his body would become more expansive as he gesticulated to heighten his enthusiasm. And he would sigh all the time and giggle in an almost childish display of emotion. Or maybe it was all in my head, the way I saw him. And maybe that love was like Sarah sings:

"I know this love is passing time
Passing through like liquid
I am drunk in my desire
But I love the way you smile at me
I love the way your hands reach out and hold me near"

At night he would search for me in bed and we would make love, like there was no space between us, just two parts of the same being. Everything then was so intensely carnal, so full of sensation, so much flesh touching one another, so unlike now.



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