I often sit alone in the mountain Sun, talking it all in. I breathe the air and listen patiently to the way of things around me, not wanting to move for fear of disturbing the scene. There are spaces all around, never empty and never full, begging for a soulful exploration. I try to do so in the natural ebb and flow of things, and sometimes that means just sitting still.
In the heat of passion I feel love’s breeze cool my moistened flesh. I hear my heart love loudly, echoing in the silence I seek between each beat. I feel love’s caress raise sweet bumps upon my skin.
You know those bumps, don’t you? They come from somewhere else. They are part of you but somehow otherworldly. They are like little aliens telling stories in some foreign tongue. Yet, you understand them. Each of them, for somehow they speak your language, too.
I see her and I feel those bumps twinkle like stars on a moonless night. We’ve had conversations and debates and I’d sit distracted by those bumps. I’d read her words and feel her thoughts and those bumps would be talking to me, too. I’d imagine dancing with her slowly to a lover’s song, holding her body close, and those bumps would remind me I’m alive.
I’m reminded of how something so small can be so big, of how often I get too wrapped up in words to actually feel what inspires them. Sometimes silence restores me to that balance I crave and that space I’ve come to cherish. Sometimes there are such great things in the void that I am filled with all I’ve lived to know. Sometimes I need reminding, and those bumps appear to whisper the sweetest memory.
My desire is read like a needle on an old record player, gently scratching the surface, playing a melody imprinted somewhere deep beneath my skin. It’s her song, my song, our song playing in the ether to everyone and no one at the exact same time, an otherworldly sound echoed by our hearts, and read in the bumps I feel cascading through my flesh.
Find me there, please. Don’t hide yourself in the shadows, I need to see you in the light. Don’t fall silent in the cloudy moments, nor search for shelter in the storm. Stand with me, hold my hand, breathe deeply and jump into the mud. Let’s roll around in the dirt, stopping only to draw pictures on each other’s skin that tell tales of our unbridled joy until….
…those bumps appear. Then we can tell each other not-so-silent stories of ecstasy set free.
Find me there, please, and hurry.