The other day, I wrote about you, quiet words just for me. My journal is heavy with the weight of thousands upon thousands of quiet words. And loud words. And sweet ones. Angry ones. Violent ones. Broken ones.
I couldn’t remember your name.
It was a shock. A physical shock. I felt it in the pit of my stomach. A kind of panic.
I was still for a few moments, probing around the inside of my head. Trying to find it.
I realised that I had gone past the sweet gentle memory I had aimed to keep of you, and … Continue Reading
When I first told him to call me ‘Ma’am’, he wasn’t happy about it. It made him uncomfortable. He LIKED using my name. He half heartedly protested.
“But ‘Sharyn’ has come to mean ‘Ma’am’ to me…” he said. “That’s what it MEANS.”
I didn’t change my mind though, and he dutifully started using it. Awkwardly at first. Warming up to it as time went on.
It became second nature after a while. I’m not sure how long it took. But it started slipping off his tongue easily, became a sweetness between us. To the point where using my name was … Continue Reading
Compersion (n):A feeling of joy when a loved one invests in and takes pleasure from another romantic or sexual relationship. Referred to mostly in poly or open relationships.
I don’t feel it. Ever.
I am not a kind or giving person that way.
I am selfish and greedy.
What’s mine is mine and you can’t have any of it. Not just physically, but emotionally. That shy smile he does just before I kiss him, that’s MINE. That vulnerable look he gives me when we are sharing intimacies, that’s MINE. That secret he’s shared with me, that’s MINE. The … Continue Reading
There are those relationships whose influence lasts long after they are over and often for longer than they were alive. Intensity, unfathomable joy, bright starbursts, out-of-control fireworks, terrible pain. Remnants that are still sharp if I pay attention. The tail of the comet is often brighter than the flare of its reality.
He wrote. Words about me. Always his words: strange, and powerful, skirting around the edges of his wild imagination, some truth at their core. He used to tell me about the quality of light where he was. The pleasure I got from his word pictures was far beyond … Continue Reading