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The last drive to the beach

Posted 10-10-2009 at 12:32 PM by sweetiepie
Updated 11-21-2009 at 05:24 PM by sweetiepie

Audre and I at it again. This time it was a straight game. No golem summoning ritual. No jellyfish pact. No bottle of wine even, to bury in the sand, when the cops come by with flashlights blazing.

We had lots of sex of course, as is our wont, and laid on the cold sand and in the cold ocean and in the dry tent. Ankles and feet were chewed by mosquitoes. The rain flap gathered ocean moisture and then dripped onto my face all night. In the morning, after breakfast, after sex, after toothbrushing, she read one of the Brontes and I read one of the Shelleys and we were both bit by flies and crawled back into the sea. There were horseshoe crabs everywhere. Seagulls ate our owl cookies. The moon was as full as it will ever be. On the ride home we sang to a cd she had mixed for Sarah and me, themed around ocean love.

I mean to say I'm afraid of what the winter is going to do to our relationship. We get along well enough, all smiles and orgasms, but we spend most of our time in a charming kind of silence. And how charming can a silence be with no gardens, no mountains, and no sea?

I feel like we're missing something. Philosophically, I'm okay without it. I have it with Sarah. I have it with Rachel. I don't need it with Audre. I don't even want it with Audre. It would just clog our hearts and we both have enough stuffed in there already. It's not that we don't have it anyway, deep down, we have substance, just no form. No bread?

No. That's not it either. I don't even mean to complain. It's just that complaining is the only thing I know how to do, besides celebrating. And celebrating seems inappropriate here, because I'm not sure what there is to celebrate. There is no form to celebrate, this is true. Ok we have no form. No vessel to hold our joy. Our joy is spilling everywhere. But this does not matter because we make it as fast as we spill it.

That's why I can't celebrate. The vessel in which one keeps love's joy is the very same chalice that you hold up to the sky and say "look at our blood, holy and sweet, I drink to us." But celebration of course is overrated. After all, only a fool toasts to so fickle a thing as love. Even without flesh our being is as bright as fireflies. We enjoy one another, without any vessel, and that seems like too small of a thing, and it is a very small thing, but it's not too small.
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  1. Old Comment
    sneakerx's Avatar
    This story is all lies. Your mistake? Actuaries don't have sex. Busted!
    Posted 11-05-2009 at 12:05 PM by sneakerx sneakerx is offline

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