Myriad

It's not so much her, rather the idea of her.

But at the same time it is her.

It's her and every other her that there every was or ever will be.

Anticipation.

It's her unique and individual genetic code that marks her as one to watch. One to touch. One to be a part of.

In my mind I guess there's a an ideal image of a distant idea. It draws me near. Partly because of what's in my head but mostly because of what's in hers.

I know at some level its absurd. I know its not really real, in the way that a blade through the heart is real. But I know that I really want the thing that lies outside my grasp.

I imagine, in my mind, what it would be like to feel her skin against mine. I wonder how I would react to her embrace. What reply do you give to questions that aren't spoken?

Is it the idea that I desire, or the person? What is it exactly that drags my thoughts from the mundane to her?

I want to touch, to feel, to kiss, to hold, to lick, to suck. I want to do all the things that have played out in the theatre of my mind.

" I wish to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived… I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner…"

I want you, because to not want you would be unacceptable.