one day, if you ever meet a december 20, 1975 kiwi named gareth who works on a boat, he will tell you about the night he met me–what i did to his world, how badly he wanted to draw my eyes, what came over him when he laid his head on my shoulder and closed his eyes, what he felt when he rested his hand on my leg, how much he wished he could hold my hand, what it meant to look me in the eyes and be so completely seen. he will tell you how he’d never felt so drawn to a woman so quickly and so completely, how badly he wanted it, to feel her insides, to feel her heat and pulse, to know that she is real and she is here…with him. for him. and he’ll tell you how i shared a warmth that was so truthful, such a flood of unadulterated joy, yet still disappeared into the night, adamantly untouched. he was a boy usually accustomed to getting what he wants who somehow found his hands tied. but he’ll always smile whenever he remembers that night.
tonight was the second night in a row the possibility of sex was blatantly on the table. and just as i’m confessing…the need to hunt is becoming overwhelming. tonight, i was in a familiar place, one which featured a stuffed leopard on its altar. i could have had anyone just by looking at him. he would have even walked himself over. and still, i was gentle, i was kind, and i waited. none of them were you.
one day, when your friends look at me and comment, “that woman…she really loves you,” you will be aware of an entire sea of time and an echoing expanse of universe, and realize all over again how profoundly lucky you are.