"Write the scene about the first time someone other than family or friends told you they loved you"
I remember he choked when he said it. It wasn't acting nor overly sentimental, but a choke at the challenge of it all- it was more complicated at the time, but I get it now.
I was terrified myself, I remember the hardest thing being the holding on to his hand because I wanted to run free and tripping in to the night down the street to a place where I could never make a man cry. There is a place where merely respecting and admiring, adoring and caring for and being intrigued and taken away by a person's essential self does not plunge into the heavy and elusive concept of romantic love.
Love is not freeing the way Red Bull gives you wings. The sublime ambiguity of the thing is what drives you to get tangled in another's messier, less driven web and never really find your way back to yours and so slowly and then all at once it becomes "ours" and home is not where you are but where he and I meet.
It is like being chained to bedrock and swimming what appears to be freely until suddenly someone sees you and gets to know you and needs to know where the hell you've come from and who you are when you aren't some mythical nymph which shadowed the sun with her laughter it seems. Suddenly someone needs to make you real and needs to feel that bedrock on their bare feet and kiss it were it the mineral that salted the sea. Then you're being pulled down and drowned in this surrounding darkness but you don' t struggle. Rather, you are frozen inside suspended and transfixed. You clench on to that chain being pulled head first down to that dismal abyss down into a trench and you cant breathe but then again you do not try because suddenly you see him there.
He bows and grabs your wrist and you tense because its like a cast has been ripped off and that pale part of you hasn't been touched since you broke it way back in your childhood. Then you cut the chain or he does and you'll never know which of you did it but all of a sudden you aren't worried and scared and guilty for what you've done driving him to this trench and whether or not you can question the audacity of him to "fall in love" with you like you ever asked for it- you do not have that second to ask yourself what you have done, will do, or what you will do together down here because you are holding on to his wrist and your wist all tangled in that web again and you don't need your anchor anymore lying there heavy turned over on the bedrock.
It is all at once bewildering and terrifying that he has made you feel more grounded and free and liberated after that anchor you had so depended on becomes obsolete. Suddenly you swim like that sea nymph you were but utterly and completely human like you weren't before, somehow. Blindly you kick toward the sun wary still of his own frantic kicking and swimming beside you and you are laughing-you crazy fool. As if you hadn't just barely made it out of the trenches alive, racing past those vile creatures of the depths that had never seen the sun this way you are now. You are laughing with aching lungs even if you still cannot breathe and you're lost and inadequate still it seems until you break the surface and gasp and cry. Choke. You choke until you can lay back and let the sun hit your feet as your throw your arms around his stunned shoulders and bring him back out to sea.
And so I understand why he choked. I wasn't a good swimmer then, either. Bravery is a learned experience. Perhaps we are still floundering to those ashore. But at least, I figure, we are synchronized now.
I remember he choked when he said it. It wasn't acting nor overly sentimental, but a choke at the challenge of it all- it was more complicated at the time, but I get it now.
I was terrified myself, I remember the hardest thing being the holding on to his hand because I wanted to run free and tripping in to the night down the street to a place where I could never make a man cry. There is a place where merely respecting and admiring, adoring and caring for and being intrigued and taken away by a person's essential self does not plunge into the heavy and elusive concept of romantic love.
Love is not freeing the way Red Bull gives you wings. The sublime ambiguity of the thing is what drives you to get tangled in another's messier, less driven web and never really find your way back to yours and so slowly and then all at once it becomes "ours" and home is not where you are but where he and I meet. It is like being chained to bedrock and swimming what appears to be freely until suddenly someone sees you and gets to know you and needs to know where the hell you've come from and who you are when you aren't some mythical nymph which shadowed the sun with her laughter it seems. Suddenly someone needs to make you real and needs to feel that bedrock on their bare feet and kiss it were it the mineral that salted the sea. Then you're being pulled down and drowned in this surrounding darkness but you don' t struggle. Rather, you are frozen inside suspended and transfixed. You clench on to that chain being pulled head first down to that dismal abyss down into a trench and you cant breathe but then again you do not try because suddenly you see him there.
He bows and grabs your wrist and you tense because its like a cast has been ripped off and that pale part of you hasn't been touched since you broke it way back in your childhood. Then you cut the chain or he does and you'll never know which of you did it but all of a sudden you aren't worried and scared and guilty for what you've done driving him to this trench and whether or not you can question the audacity of him to "fall in love" with you like you ever asked for it- you do not have that second to ask yourself what you have done, will do, or what you will do together down here because you are holding on to his wrist and your wist all tangled in that web again and you don't need your anchor anymore lying there heavy turned over on the bedrock. It is all at once bewildering and terrifying that he has made you feel more grounded and free and liberated after that anchor you had so depended on becomes obsolete. Suddenly you swim like that sea nymph you were but utterly and completely human like you weren't before, somehow. Blindly you kick toward the sun wary still of his own frantic kicking and swimming beside you and you are laughing-you crazy fool. As if you hadn't just barely made it out of the trenches alive, racing past those vile creatures of the depths that had never seen the sun this way you are now. You are laughing with aching lungs even if you still cannot breathe and you're lost and inadequate still it seems until you break the surface and gasp and cry. Choke. You choke until you can lay back and let the sun hit your feet as your throw your arms around his stunned shoulders and bring him back out to sea. And so I understand why he choked. I wasn't a good swimmer then, either. Bravery is a learned experience. Perhaps we are still floundering to those ashore. But at least, I figure, we are synchronized now.
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