My god …..I’ve been wondering when my next story was going to come to me. Sitting here watching HBO after hours, not a glorious life. Just heard Lenny Kravitz singing “AGAIN”. Probably one of my favorite love songs ever. There is a yearning, a desire, a passion. And then what I’m assuming is the Sex in the City movie comes on.
Most moments of my life are lived in my internal dialogue. I’m still a man on the exterior. I can do anything you set before me. Except after 35 years of smoking, a 10-mile hike is a little out of my league…. but I’ll get there again. However I can build shit, and I can make love like a motherfuker. No pun intended.
I am a modern-day man, somewhat Metro, somewhat brash, way too honest, with just a dash of Sex in the City. That last part, yeah, way out there. I’ve been a romantic since I watched my first John Hughes movie. Most of you probably won’t even get it. But Weird Science, it formed me. The idea that you can make, and then meet your ideal woman has gripped most of my life. It is no secret, I absolutely love women. Their shape, their form, their softness. I crave it ,I miss it, I need it. I have been entangled in so many “chance encounter conversations”. In hotel lobbies, airport bars, intense conversations with a thought in the back of my mind, “Could she be the one?” I can literally write a book about it. And perhaps one day I will.
And then there were the random sex-capades. Just a way to get out of my own head, to avoid the actual feelings. Make myself more visceral. I mean, really life is about the moments, correct?
Someday I am going to be the machismo, love story novelist. Kind of a Guy Fieri, culinary-ist, master of words. Or perhaps a Anthony Bourdain mixed with a little Mark Twain. Satirist meets World Traveler. I often wonder. Why is it so difficult for me to meet “The One”. And in a way, I already think I have. I play it quaint, I play it strong and I play it hard. She knows my intention and she is so fucking coy.
I find it odd how I identify was so many different types of writers. And people from so many different walks of life. Sometimes I question whether or not I know my true self… yet, however I do …and if I ever meet myself in a female version, it’s on. And actually I have. As I said earlier. I know how scared she is, cuz so am I. And still I choose to silence that reserve, that frightened voice inside my head that says “Don’t do it! The last time almost killed you. You don’t have another in you.” And perhaps I don’t. This could be the one that kills my heart forever. That turns me into a callus old man. You know that one who thwarts every woman’s warmness. Greets every smile with caution. And believe me, I do not want to be that guy. There is a tenderness inside of me that most women crave, and she has seen all of it. Her friends have seen all of it. I’ve made myself open to a fault. I have literally exposed my jugular to her fangs.
Bless her heart. She holds on knowing there are not many like me. She is afraid to let go, and maybe deep down she does not feel the way I do. Maybe she wants to.
And I am not the type of man who sits there waiting for a woman to fall in love. And yet here I sit. Quite a convoluted life I live.
Then I question ….am I truly in love?
So you kind of have to figure out, is the risk associated with love, worth the vulnerability that you endure. It is something that I continually Ponder, all the while, sitting here, in love. And the problem is, I think rationally after the fact.
I have, a long time ago, determined that love equals pain. And if that is the entirety of the mathematical equation, I choose whiskey. So I “think”
Heart trumps head…