The Love Letter.

Feeling loved and to love is probably the thing that shake me the most, that I’m always running after and running away at the same time. A bit like climbing a volcano, do 3 steps forward, but go down of the equivalent of 2 steps because of the sand, sometimes you even fall down big time. It hurts, you’ve got sand in your mouth, you struggle to breathe, sit down for a bit and start climbing again, even if you have a few cuts on your skin. But I don’t think that inconsiderable love and true devotion comes easily, you’ve got to get to the top first. You also need good shoes. Maybe you need to jump once you’re at the top of the volcano, giving yourself is a bit like skydiving, there’s no coming back, just have to hope that the parachute opens.
I have loved in the past, much more than I thought I was able to. I used to hate it, I felt like a children that was trying to run a marathon. But when it stopped after some long years I was sad that the warmth in my heart was gone. As if she had drained everything from me. I didn’t understand really, the confusion was huge, emptiness seems nothing comparing to how I felt.
Life couldn't you just hug me? Let me live. Let me go far away. Let me be near love, game, laughing, tears. Let me be a violin or a voice singing. Let me be a noise. Or simply a fart. Yes I’d fancy being a fart… Which is actually something that most people pretend to despise despite everything that it brings us! Such hypocrisy revolts me. I think that one of  the best feeling ever is when you surprise yourself, some people only have the smell and noise of their farts to surprise themselves (yes some people are sad). It also -sometimes- creates a complicity between two people, because you show that you’re just a human. So instead of spitting on it, become an adept of the dutch oven. Yes yes you’ve heard me.

Let’s get back to the point. I went into a quest of feelings. Touch love but not shake it’s hand was what I used to think when going out. How can I do this?
I could observe other couples that seem tight? Nah that’s just good for a wank-bank. Kiss a random girl? Nah it won’t work. Show my special skill with my right hand? No.
How about  a letter… yes a letter, a love letter. Let’s do it the old-fashion way. Let’s make the girl believe that I fell in love with her, and maybe her kiss will be like a fireball jumping all around inside my body, it might be a bit mean but you’ve got to break some eggs to make an omelet, I can’t wait to find my eggs, I hope they’ll be from a factory farm that cram egg-laying hens into cages so tiny they can’t even spread their wings. Plus, their neighbours, our dear breeding pigs and veal calves are stuffed into cramped individual cages barely larger than their bodies. They can’t walk or turn around. Those are the best eggs for my letter.
Ouft, I have to write a letter… Never done this before, I should keep it simple, something brief, a note that I can give her.
So I take 5 minutes to write this that will stay in my pocket:
“I want to have you in my arms as you fall asleep –tonight- hold you tight while whispering in your ear how pulchritudinous you are, i miss your smell already.”
Yes, perfect, she probably won’t know what that word means, so she’ll ask me, I’ll tell her, she’ll kiss me.
I luckily meet the perfect potential partner at some party, I gave her the note earlier in the night and I manage to end up alone with her, we’re about to kiss.
 I look at her, it’s as if we both don’t think about anything, the music seems far away, I stroke her hair, I slowly turn it back behind her ears, I walk toward her by putting my hands on her neck. I kiss her gently, taking her upper lip between mine, I look at her briefly without moving, her eyes are closed, she’s waiting for the kiss to continue, god she’s beautiful. After a few tens of second, when she feels ready, we open our mouth, letting our tongues meet, her delicacy is delightful, it’s warm, the movements are the most sexual thing ever and the most tender at the same time, there is a perfect harmony,  I’m shivering of pleasure, we’re both becoming a bit clumsy, we lose concentration because of how good it was, as if there is too much intensity in the kiss. I feel satisfied. She kissed me as if she loved me, I did the same, forcing me at first, it then became natural. I slowly stop the kiss.
 I sigh. I’m happy for a brief moment then realize that I now have to get rid of her. Nothing comes to my head, I’m still a bit under the effect of that kiss. The only thing that comes to my mind is with a wry smile on my face: “What did you eat before?” Her teeth are impeccable, and so was her breath but I had to find something… I know it’s pretty bad, but at least next time I’ll see her (because Glasgow is fairly small) she won’t talk to me.
So I leave, well she left before, looking very shocked. As I leave I realize that I’m more in love with the idea of love rather than love itself. Am I an idealistic? Well that sucks… At least I was satisfied for the night, I don’t regret what I did, I kept saying merci slowly as I was walking away in the dark street, maybe some day you’ll understand. And I fart.

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