Is summer still a thing ? Does warm weather still exist? Will it ever come back?
Rejecting another human being simply because they are human, has become a collective neurosis. People ask, “When will my soul mate get here?” But praying for the right person is useless if we’re not ready to receive him. Our soul mates are human beings, just like we are, going through the normal processes of growth. No one is ever “finished.” The top of one mountain is always the bottom of another, and even if someone meets us when we feel “on top” of things, the chances are good that very soon we’ll be going through something that challenges us. It is our commitment to growth that makes this inevitable. But the ego doesn’t like the look of people when they’re “going through things. It’s unattractive.
As in every other area, the problem in relationships is RARELY that we haven’t had wonderful opportunities or met wonderful people. The problem is, we haven’t known how to take the greatest advantage of the opportunities we’ve had. Sometimes we didn’t recognize at the time how wonderful those people were. Love is all around us. The ego is the block to our awareness of love’s presence. The idea that there is a perfect person who just hasn’t arrived yet is a major block. Our vulnerability to the myth of “Mr. Right” stems from our glorification of romantic love. The ego uses romantic love for its “special” purposes, leading us to jeopardize our relationships by overvaluing their romantic content.
The difference between a friendship and a romance can be illustrated with the image of a long stemmed rose. The stem is the friendship; the blossom the romance. Because the ego is sensation-oriented, our focus automatically goes to the blossom. But all the nourishment that the blossom needs in order to live reaches it through the stem. The stem might look boring in comparison, but if you take the blossom off the stem it will not last for long.
Things to know for no reason.
a girl’s feet will tangle yours under sheets you just bought for a night like this. the price tag is still glued to the plastic wrapping stuffed underneath the bed. her feet are frigid and feel like frostbite against your legs when you fall asleep, but they’re like mittens roasted over a fire when the sun blinks through the curtains.
a girl’s legs are taut and thick. they’re flexible and enclose you in a straightjacket at 2 am when they knot around your waist and pull you just a little closer. if she’s still sleeping, it’s even better.
her thighs will make you forget about your calculus homework and your french exam. they will make you forget about your father’s affair or your best friend’s disorders. they will make you forget your name and they will make you forget who you are without them. hold them as tight as you can. i promise, she loves it.
when you were in fourth grade, they taught you stop, drop, and roll at the sign of a fire. when you’re in her bedroom on the second floor, her quivering hips will trick-start a similar fire in your teeth, and you’re going to want to listen to your fourth grade teacher, but don’t. if you stop, whatever it may be that you’re doing, she might kill you.
so in health class, they’re supposed to teach you that your hands will never fit somewhere like they will on a girl’s waist. it doesn’t matter if it’s wide and soft, or small and hard. your hands will adapt to her waist like the heart to your blood. they’ll feel as natural as fingers on an instrument.
sometimes you can see her ribs; sometimes you can’t. they flicker like an old grainy movie under her skin, and they feel like sharp magma in your palms. they’re structure — they protect her. hold her there if you want her to feel like this house isn’t caving in on herself.
her chest. promise her you’d never want anything more or anything less. if you don’t mean it, stop reading, and find someone else.
taste her collarbone. dip in the crevices and valleys and plant trees at the bottom. root down, cherish the nature, and never ever underestimate a girl’s collarbones. they’re a place to sleep when its -11 outside. write scripts on her collarbone. they are forever.
if you don’t know blueprints to her neck with your eyes closed from tracing it with your mouth, you’re doing it wrong. learn it. memorize it. you better know her pulse like counting with your dominant hand. kiss it like it’s her mouth. her neck will change over time, yes. but make sure you can change with it.
kiss her before she brushes her teeth. make fun of her morning breath. kiss her after, and make fun of the flavor of her toothpaste. kiss her when she’s angry and throwing the vase your mother bought her, and kiss her when she can’t stand and she bubbles over with tears like hot water. kiss her if she’s laughing and tell her it’s because she makes you happy. kiss her if she won’t stop talking because you want to taste her voice. kiss her when she isn’t talking because you miss it. kiss her in the shower and kiss her everywhere. if it’s raining, kiss her, and kiss her again when she calls you a cliche. kiss her in public because you want them all to know, and kiss her in private because you don’t need them to either. god, just kiss her on the mouth. nothing else matters. just fucking kiss her.