3.13.2013
his fault.
i blamed him entirely.
it was meant to be just a glass of wine. a good story. and a goodnight.
when we met we kissed cheeks once in greeting and i pulled away to sit down, but he pulled me back. kissed the other side, said that's how it was done where he came from.
and i was charmed by this.
we sat on opposite ends of a very large booth.
and i can remember almost nothing we spoke of. only that he moved closer, pulled me towards him.
how his knee touched my knee. and how i was surprised by this. surprised by my own delight.
how his hand reached for my hand. and it was...delicious.
and when our mouths finally met, it was one silent of course after another.
how our first night together he turned to me, still half-alseep and asked if i wanted to hug, the sounds of those words all sloshy in his mouth.
and i nodded, let him pull me close, knowing that hug was entirely the wrong word.
but i was nuts about him for that word alone. because i knew what he meant and i liked what he meant and hell, if he wasn't a man who made every bit of my body go soft with wanting.
and i blamed him entirely.
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14 comments:
when you write something as perfect as this, does it just spill out of you with its own energy, or is it slowly quilted together and carefully crafted, i wonder...
@Jill,
I actually had three scribbling that i cobbled together for this. one was in a word document, two were in the notebook i carry with me all the time. i let something like this sit for a while because for me this particular experience was sort of holy and i wanted to give it time to air and breathe in my body. also, i have to sit with the notion that if the man in question reads this, will i really be okay with it. this is all to say i feel like it sits in my body fully formed and it sometimes takes a few different times to coax it out. so i am in service of the experience, if that makes sense. but when the drafts start to look alike i know i've hit on something...
This is pure poetry. Lovely.
Your words are so lovely and perfect. I also loved hearing a bit about your process. I've written about a man in particular in my own private writings but have only ever once published anything about it on my blog. I did it knowing he would probably never read it, but if he did I would be completely fine with it. (He did end up reading it because his grandmother read it and loved it, she knew it was about him and called him to tell him to read it)
Oh gorgeous. "One silent of course after another" is just exactly how it feels with some rare birds. I think I stopped breathing from the first line to the last word of this post. So beautiful. Well done!
Literally felt more and more light headed with each sentence. Absolute beauty.
Magnificent Meg.
xg
Where is this book of yours, where, where? I wantto buy it and read it entirely at once.
Meg, thanks for answering. I love thinking about writing and words and truth that somehow finds its form as ink on paper and now exists that way in time in space. And mostly... however it is that it gets out there, now it exists for us (your readers) too, and we're thankful!
Beautiful.
Your words about your process, about your thoughts needing to sit in your body until they are fully formed, remind me of Madeleine L'Engle...she talks about writing as a sort of magical birthing process. I've always loved that metaphor; it seems right.
beautiful. love reading about the process and this: "to give it time to air and breathe in my body"
beautiful. love reading about the process and this: "to give it time to air and breathe in my body"
This makes my desire to write come alive. So good.
this makes me swoon :)
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