I feel so wonderful right now. I had awoken from a bed that was not mine at around 12:00pm. We made breakfast and tea and cleaned up the kitchen a bit. The night before, I came over, took a shower and she went to the store for food. I had given her a few bucks to help out with the expenses. She got home, at the same time my shower was finished and we prepared dinner together: pasta. While the sauce cooked and the penne boiled, we ate exotic cheeses from eastern europe with crackers and talked about plants. We also talked about all her suitors that she wished would just go away. We had a lovely dinner and watched a movie on her bed afterwards - Schindler's List. We cuddled and watched the movie. I removed tears from her cheeks until my own cheeks were wet. The movie ended and we cried and cried and cried with each other, embraced. Turned off the movie and we talked about parts of our bodies and gave each other backrubs. We spent the night cuddled close next to each other and awoke with the cat nudging both of our shoulders with its cold, wet nose.
The above sounds like I'm in Love and spent the night with my girlfriend. Although, she's not my girlfriend, as far as I know and it's not so much that I'm in Love as that I'm feeling Love from this person, but I'm cognisant about the difference and this is probably why this all works. It feels good and it feels like it's been a very long time and I am thirsty. It's funny how so near in the past this was just somebody that I, "knew of" and now they are this close. I think I even saw an ex-girlfriend whom I have longed for so much while getting coffee not 15 minutes later and it didn't really make me mind - my heart didn't lose control, my adrenaline was kept in check. They seem so distant, just a stranger with a face I slightly recognize. The connection has been severed.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
-- Dylan Thomas
I sent her this quote last night:
It was cold, and he was coughing. A fine cold draught blew over the knoll. He thought of the woman. Now he would have given all he had or ever might have to hold her warm in his arms, both of them wrapped in one blanket, and sleep. All hopes of eternity and all gain from the past he would have given to have her there, to be wrapped warm with him in one blanket, and sleep, only sleep. It seemed the sleep with the woman in his arms was the only necessity.
-- D. H. Lawrence, "Lady Chatterly's Lover"
Which is hard enough on a phone and she asked what book it was from. I told her. She told me she had read it - it was on her (small) bookshelf. I told her, I had no idea. To chalk this up to synchronicity. To the trickster.
