I don’t feel inspired to write.
About beauty, about life or even about the pain I am feeling. I am numb, alone and drifting out to sea…and I don’t have a life jacket. Plenty of arms reach out to me but who is going to save me?
But even as I say this, a thought comes to me…
I miss Venezuela…
I miss her hair and the way she always tucks it behind her ears because she thinks that’s the way I like it…I miss her eyes and the way they lighten when I smile and they darken when she kisses me…I miss her hands and the way they’re always seeking me, touching me, needing to connect with my skin. Letting me know that she is there…open and loving and available to me…always a constant and just a touch away.
I miss the way she travels across my body, caresses me softly, brushes my nipples, coaxes my legs apart and pushes into me with such intent. My clit pulses as I write this. Yes, she is that good. She has learned to love her women well. And make no mistake…I am still her woman.
In this moment.
She has all of me.
My heart. My soul. My body.
I am hers…
I miss her deep, knowing laugh…that mysteriously, all too knowing, secret lesbian laugh…but from her it’s so rich and beautiful and full of something I want so desperately to share with her. And I miss the way she takes control of herself when she tells me her stories and reveals who she is to me in a way that I admire and respect. And in those moments when she talks to me, I just want to curl up in her bosom, in her warm tattooed arm, in the passionate intelligent woman that she is…strong and reassuring, bold and confident…and so beautiful. Where I am safe and protected and loved and I just want to disappear inside of her.
I wonder if she knows I think she’s beautiful.
And now I am sad again…
Cuz I miss her