VENUS RX: modern mythology & the winding road of love

Piercing. Penetrating. I felt like I was being x-rayed. I remember the sharpness of fear, but I enjoyed it. I had wanted to kiss you even then, I’m sure.

You were wearing burgundy when I finally did.

With her legs wrapped around my waist, I was trapped on the side of a mountain slowly losing feeling in my rear. It was excruciating.  There really is something about being reminded of your own mortality that turns a simmer to a boil. You were clocking out… putting on that burgundy sweatshirt, and with that piercing gaze you said, “Well, I’m really glad you didn’t die.”

the kiss came later.

We watched each other more than we spoke. I was recovering from a weird summer, preceded by an even weirder year. I still don’t know your story… just hints and musings. I like that he knows you… is that perverse? I suppose it was always best that way. I’m so curious. But then I waltz in and just settle my overly Sagittarius-self down and don’t blink twice at my absurd ease of intimacy.

It’s such a mind game to try to figure out how you are seen.

The mirror analogy is over played and not vivid enough.

Like the movie said today, “memories are powerful magic”.

It may have been one of the most painful ways to learn how to listen to my soul.

You…

I wish I knew my power then. That’s always the case. I loved you without question.

And him…and him… and him… but then in that moment—just you.

I think I came here for this.

So, I’d like to stop being so terrified now.

Can I be both?

I hungered for endings. That’s where the juice is. We are painfully impermanent. You choose what death to experience… face it.

You were sitting on a bar stool by the stairs. You were talking to a female friend. She loved you too, I’m almost positive I wasn’t projecting that on her. It can be so hard to tell sometimes.

It will require sacrifice. My whole life has been a split. Internal externalized.

Too aware for our own good. Our…

Tragic mess… or the most exquisite creature you’ve ever met?

I’ve always liked the dark ones. The best ones always have secrets. “Damn your wife—I’d be your mistress, just to have you around.” There’s a deep fear of attachment in that line. I always liked monogamy best. Let it remind you how to enjoy life…?

Female intimacy has always been such a respite for me. I get most anxious when I feel like my thoughts might hurt someone. It’s such a painful self-inflicted cage. Why do thoughts hurt?

Humanness is hard.  Secrets destroy. Prometheus knows.

and I didn’t want to be kissed in closets anymore…my balance was off.

I became so tired of wearing someone else’s clothes, yet too scared to be naked.  Illumination or delusion is surprisingly hard to judge. I’ve always lived lyrically… music really sets a tone. I want to sully the innocent and be sullied in return. Does that make me a bad witch?

They got the Persephone myth all wrong. Or I did.

I summoned each of you, I am responsible for your death. Metaphorically speaking.  My gift mark was gone and it felt relieving… and sad.

This might be her graveyard. I want to feel again, but not THAT MUCH… or do I? I miss the poetry the most.