some nights
like tonight
sleep hides from me
I look everywhere
but it becomes
the ultimate game
of hide and seek
all the sheep
leap the fence
one two three
but even they
do not help me
find my lost sleep
…
some nights
like tonight
I find you inside
at last
peace is mine
I close my eyes
and one…
………….two…
……………..th
. r
. e
. e
I wrote this as a short narrative when I was about 17 years old. I found it in an old notebook a few months ago when I hit the jackpot in my basement. I played around with it a few different ways but finally landed at this ‘conversation‘ version… Continue reading
I am a romantic. All the time. Not forcibly according to a calendar.
This ‘February is the month of love‘ crap is madness. Have we really gotten so preoccupied, so distracted, that we need a specific month to remind us to love? A schedule according to which we show our love? I hate it. If there’s a month for love, what happens during the rest of the months? I hate it.
February is something different for me.
It is the month I met John who would ultimately become my husband. But beyond that little anniversary, February is a month of loss.
As a child, my maternal grandparents visited every weekend. Every Saturday, while my sisters and I watched cartoons, Grandpa would arrive with Grandma. Grandpa didn’t usually stay, but Gram did. All day while Dad went to the hospital to see patients and Mom had some time without her four daughters to catch up on things.
Gram would cook for us, always traditional Ukrainian food, from scratch. She would tell us stories about her life, her journey from the Ukraine through Germany, and finally to the US, in the midst of WW II. She never did quite learn to read or write English fluently. Her speech was always sprinkled with Ukrainian words in place of the English ones she could never remember.
Gram’s birthday was February 8th. She would have been 96 this month… but she died in 2013.
I was never as close to my dad as I am to Mom. Sometimes it breaks my heart because it’s too late for us now. Mom used to tell me that Dad and I clashed because we were so alike. I hated when she said that because I rarely agreed with him. But as I grew up, I realized, just like with many other things, Mom was right. Dad and I were the same. Not in our beliefs or our opinions, but in the way we believed and the way we expressed ourselves… how passionate we were about everything.
I loved Dad’s stories about growing up in Italy. And stories of his travels all over Europe, skiing the Alps and other amazing things. And his tales of traveling all over the US and Canada when he moved here, alone, to complete his medical degree. He met Mom… and he stayed. Maybe he was always going to stay or maybe he stayed for love. Being so like him and letting love rule me, I always thought it was for love.
And I look so like him. I notice it more and more the older I get. Especially in the eyes.
Dad died in February 2012.
February reminds me of what I’ve lost. But it’s not just sadness — I have wonderful memories of Dad and Gram.
It’s also not just sadness because there’s something else I lost in February. On the 2nd, to be exact. And I’m reminded every year when an old friend sends me a Groundhog Day greeting. Because years ago [not confessing how many…], on the 2nd of February, I lost something else…
My virginity.
Try this one — my favorite
You’re not supposed to be here.
Don’t worry, I waited ‘til I was alone.
Before you brought me this lacey thing?
Yes because I knew I had to see you
Wearing this one immediately
I can be quiet, I promise
No one will ever know
I’ll keep whispering as long as
We’re here in this tiny space but
I can’t promise to keep my hands
To myself when you show me how
Deliciously sexy you look in this
Tiny black thing that had to be
Made for you… only for you
Or maybe it’s really for me
the story of my love life:
Part 1 – Fame | Part 2 – Sandra Goes Wild | Part 3 – Sandra Grows Up… and Down | Part 4 – Uncomfortably Numb
We’re kind of past the ‘how I met’ part of the story… so consider this and all future parts the ‘disappointing series finale.’ [himym]
Part 5 – What is love?
Part history, part philosophy, all me.
John was a relationship guy. And that’s what I wanted.
Wasn’t it?
Well, yes. But…
I questioned everything. I hadn’t had a decent, remotely long-term boyfriend since David whom I met while still in college. Clearly, I must have been doing something wrong. But John seemed like he could be the right guy for me on paper.
But, my God, I wanted that feeling. You know the one. [God knows I’ve written about it a thousand times.]
My insides tingle at the sound of his voice… at the tiniest touch. My heart pounds and I involuntarily smile at the mere mention of his name. The moment he walks into the room, everything is right. I’ve found my perfect soul mate.
Yes. That feeling.
I wanted to find the one who would [please don’t hit me for the painful expression] complete me. I wanted to feel like I’d found my other half. I wanted chemistry so hot we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. I wanted to feel toe-curling magic whenever he was near. But… come on. Soul mates? Is that even a real thing or is it just for romance novels and Dawson’s Creek?
Don’t tell me. It may break me to know.
Because I wanted that… the chemistry, the deep, perfect connection – inside and out, the tingling toes. I wanted it all. And I still want it.
With the relationship guy.
But the universe showed me I couldn’t have both. I could have the crazy hot chemistry and feel the overwhelming emotional connection with a short-term guy… or I could have a long-term relationship with a mild, watered-down version of those things. But not both.
So… now what?
Fight it? Believe it? Ignore it? Accept it?
Denial. My best friend.
John and I made no firm plans before he left the night of our first date. But I knew he would call.
I knew because I wasn’t sure about him. Because every single guy I was so damn convinced I wanted – every fucking guy I had to have – never called. But the ones I wasn’t sure about – the ones I was not all dreamy-eyed and lustful over – they always called.
Of course, I was right. How annoyingly perceptive of me.
John did call. And I was happy to hear from him. I liked talking to him. We clicked. But racing, pounding heart? Dreamy, lusty, uncontrollable, deliciously intense passion? I wouldn’t go that far.
Our second date was on Valentine’s Day. It wasn’t because it was Valentine’s Day. Just a coincidence. But he brought me flowers anyway – which might have been sweet if I didn’t know that he only did it because he happened to be with his married friend who was getting some for his wife. I guess it was honest of him to confess that to me. But knowing he didn’t come up with the idea on his own killed the magic. He was not Mr. Romance.
John and I began seeing each other every weekend, then two or three times a week, and eventually, five or six times a week. We walked around the city and stopped for dinner. We bonded over our mutual love for poking fun at others. And we made each other laugh. We were together… a lot. We became friends.
Friends who did very naughty things together.
John loves boobs. I suppose most men do [you tell me, boys…] but John’s definitely not a leg-man or an ass-man [oh man, he can be an ass, but that’s another story]. He’s a boob-man. That alone made us compatible… because boobs are my thing. You know those special places that send you into an especially dirty little frenzy when touched and teased and kissed? Yeah. Some have even gone as far as calling my ‘boob thing’ a fetish.
I suppose it is. But I digress…
Two previous relationships in my life began with strong friendships – my very first boyfriend [Glen] and my college-and-beyond boyfriend [David]. And those were the two best relationships I’d ever had. When John and I became friends, I was convinced that falling in love was inevitable. That’s what was supposed to happen next.
So… did I fall in love? Or did I think I fell in love? Was it real or did I just convince myself it was? Is there a difference? How would I know? Do I know now?
I didn’t know the answers to those questions.
But I do now.
This is where Howard Jones enters, in his infinite wisdom… [What is Love?]
This is why I don’t mind you doubting…
What is love anyway?
Does anybody love anybody anyway?
Let’s backpedal for a moment.
I think I was in love with Glen. It was high school so of course I thought I was in love. That’s what you think when you’re 16 years old making out in the car while Morrissey or Robert Smith serenades you. And it’s what you think when he tells you he loves you, too, because you never thought anyone would. If you can be in love at 16, I think I was.
I don’t question it with David. I know we were in love. We spent almost an entire college year getting to know each other, becoming friends. It felt amazing to be with him no matter what we were doing – homework, wandering around campus going nowhere in particular, hanging out in the biology lab because he assisted a professor there. We wanted to be together more and more. When he finally kissed me, it was the most magical kiss I’d had since Glen. I have no doubt that David and I fell in love.
But everything was different with John. Not necessarily bad. But different. I was bitter and hopeless when I met him. I had preconceived ideas about love and falling in love. Specifically, that they weren’t real… not for me… not any more.
I came to accept that I was never going to have everything I wanted.
And I was already well on my way to settling for half-way there before John and I met.
Part 6: The Love of Romance
Coming soon.
[Much sooner than this one showed up after the last – promise!]
Update – now posted:
Part 6 – The Love of Romance
Part 7 – Let’s Go to Bed (the final chapter)
I wanted to share the photos… then they inspired this ‘modified memory’… so you get both…
Pink sunset (edited only to add text). Photo by Sandra.
Do you remember the time
You snuck into my room
That night after the storm
Back when our love was brand new?
Fresh white powder everywhere…
You took me out to play
Down sloping Chapel Hill
On a stolen dinner tray.
We traced the paths of others
Who slid the hill before,
But gone now fast asleep
Alone down the hill we soared.
It’s cold my dear I whispered.
You laughed at my soft words.
No one is out here, love,
You could scream and not be heard.
All smiles, you led me inside
And peeled off my damp clothes.
Are you still cold my love?
Come with me no one will know.
In silence we slipped into
One of the girls’ showers.
The way you warmed me there
I could have stayed for hours.
In towels we hurried back.
You wouldn’t let me dress.
You wrapped me up in bed,
Laid my head against your chest.
But honey my toes are cold.
You smiled and moved the sheets.
You crawled to the bed’s edge
Used your touch to warm my feet.
I adored that you kissed them,
Every one of my toes.
Maybe I was warm then
But so flustered I don’t know.
You kissed your way to my lips
Whispered and held me tight…
Can we build a snowman…?
Maybe late tomorrow night?
Hope you enjoy this week’s installment… we’re on our way out of the timeline jump…! And as always, thanks for reading!
[Continue to Roses Are Blue (11)…]
This could have been a substitute Fiction Friday for tomorrow… but I might get death threats if I do that to anyone reading that series. So… instead, it’s a bonus.
Enjoy.
He stood at the stove, unaware of her silent approach. When she rested her hands on his shoulders, he sighed. Her touch made him melt every time. She pushed herself up onto her toes and kissed the back of his neck forcing another sigh. What was that for?
You’re cooking. I love when you cook. She kissed his neck again, gently biting him. Still he stared down at the stove, knowing if he turned to her, he’d forget food entirely. But she found his reluctant yet adamant attentiveness to their dinner adorable… and irresistible.
Her hands slid from his shoulders, down his back, around him until her hands covered his chest. This time, hers was the sigh they heard. The warmth of his body under her touch overwhelmed her. Again, her hands wandered… lower to his stomach. She pulled him against her. Oh honey…
But she hadn’t reached her destination. Lower, still, she held his hips for a moment before slowly – torturously slowly – straying toward the front of him. She wanted to feel him craving her. She wanted to feel the tension she built in him. My love…
His delicious moan fell, long and deep, inside his breath. Never had she heard anything as sexy as those sounds. She wanted to hear it again. And again. My God… what are you doing?
She sighed and moaned for him, too. Mm… ruining dinner.
In one smooth, quick motion, he flicked the stove off and turned himself around. He grabbed her face in his hands and kissed her hard on the mouth. Between delicious kisses, he mumbled and nudged her away from the stove. Do you have any idea… what you’re doing to me…?
She touched his chest and slowly ran her hands up to his neck… to his face. Yes. I know.
Clothing dropped along their path across the kitchen. When they bumped into the counter, he grabbed her hips and, without stopping their ravenous kisses, lifted her. Oh honey… He sat her down. And he devoured her. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him close. Dinner… later… much later…
Her lips barely left his when she whispered. Mm… Dessert first…
Liam Sullivan's Ideas and Reflections
Wordpress simulcast of the official A to Z Challenge blog
“Love recognizes no barriers. It jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to arrive at its destination full of hope.” — Maya Angelou
Photos, art, and a little bit of LIT.
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