#41 not the end

i like to know the end.

i never quite anything. i always go all the way to the end because i need to know how it ends. there are only a couple of books that i started that didn't finished. now i remember an awful Nick Cave's book a friend gave me, she picked it up just by the author and i do love Nick Cave when he sings and he breaks my heart everytime, but sorry dear Raquel, i have no idea who told him he should right a novel. it was terrible, it was boring at times and it was painful to read sometimes but i kept on hoping for the final twist, for a good moment, a good sentence that made the time worth it. i didin't find it, but still i read it all the way to the end. i needed to, you know, how could i just accept not knowing how it ended? i could never.

they say curiosity killed the cat and i guess it will kill me eventually.

but sometimes the end is just "and then he said you have my email, right?" and you just go WHAT? this is the end? oh kid me not! tell me that there is a second season for this show! tell me that someone is writing part two, a crappy sequel no-one is going to watch! don't tell me that I'll have to live with this end! don't tell me that the rest of the story will only continue in my head! give me something more! please! tell me that after that he flew and the plane crashed, or that he went back to his ex-girlfriend, or that he started jogging or painting or something... tell me that she wrote him an email and he didn't answer because it ended in the spam box, but he still thinks about her from time to time, or that he saw the email and laughed and told his friends about that crazy girl back from his vacations... give me something more 'cos this end doesn't let me sleep at night.

people that write these final lines are just sadistic, that's what i think. they are mean twisted and crazy and i'd follow them anywhere just to know a little bit more of the story.

#40 no news from you on my my spam box

Sometimes I look for you under the bed.

I sometimes look for you in my spam box. It's just one excuse, another excuse, another believing that it's fate or destiny or something else that it's keeping us apart. You weren't there. But there was another cute boy telling me to loose up my hair 'cos that's how he likes it, that's how he remembers me. I always keep my hair up tight. I remember him saying, as he was leaving, you should wear your hair loose, always, it really looks good on you! I think I blushed - I didn't expect it, we hadn't talked for more than 15 minutes the day before, when I had, as usual, my hair on a bunny. But he didn't touch it, my dear, he didn't put his hand on it and said your hair is so soft looking me in the eyes and I didn't reply it's Gerês still on it. That was you. And it was your voice I wanted to hear on my my spam box and if it was your voice talking about my hair, I would loose it up right now, I would shake it like the girls on the comercials, and I would smile and lie again, it's the forest, or the seaweed or the water springs that live in my hair.


And because it's was not you, I don't know what answer, I don't even know if I should or do like you, take the compliment and continue with my life. So I'll just keep it as it is, as always, discret, up tight, saving me for boy troubles. And wear it loose only in my drawings or the next time your soft hands are around.

#39 the empty hours

I've always wondered what people do when nobody's watching.

What do people do when they are alone on a rainy Saturday in the middle of July?  Or any week day after work, when you arrive home and everything is clean? What do people do?

Do they talk with the cats? Open a bottle of wine? Watch Tv as if the world, the whole world, isn't on the other side of the window?

I know what I do, all the silly things I do, but I kind of wonder if these are the normal things to do - wine and cake and tea and drawings and cat and coffee (gOD I needed it) and writing and photographies and waiting for something else, for something big, that I don't even know what it is, to happen but it doesn't.

I'm pretty sure that there is a study on this, there is a study on everything these days, or a book... maybe one of those "what to do when you arrive home and you live alone and everything is clean for dummies", but I'm no dummie and after so many years doing the same things - cooking, washing the dishes, doing the laundry, planning life for two, now that I don't really feel like cooking, that I use one glass and one cup a day, now that the laundry is for one and can be done once a week, now that I don't even feel like planning my own life, these free hours just seem strange. I'm not complainning, I love having the house for myself, I love that I have time for the gym, and that I can eat something as simple as a salad or a pasta, I love that the house is always clean and shinning, and I love that I can plan my vacations just for me (museums and museums and cafés) but there are some hours, some moments, some free rainy days, that seem too much of another life.

Everytime I go for a cigarette in the balcony I check the buildings around. I check the flowerless balconies, the blinds closed, the flickering lights of tvs, occasionally someone else's cigarette break, but mostly closed blinds, people living in closed boxes and me wondering what are they doing in there and I wished I was living in Holland where I could actually see what do people do, the paintings on their walls, their family or lonely meals. I think that if I live in Holland I would take a walk at night, every night, just to see what do people do.

In those moments I would call you, my love. After the drawings, after the cake, after the plants, with the wine and the cat waiting for the bed, I would call you. And I'd tell you about my new plans, I'd tell you that rainned all day, I'd ask you about your day - you could tell anything, just think about your silly moment of the day - I'd tell you about my new underwear that I'm wearing just now and that the local news says that we'll have more riverside beaches next year.

I would call you on any subject in those moments, just to check on you, just so you could check on me. Isn't it what people do?

What do you do?

#38 home alone on a Friday night

In case anyone is wondering (and truely only because nobody is), I'm home alone on a Friday night, makeup on, wearing only fine underwear and a men's shirt, drinking Port wine.

Obviously, if anybody was really interested, I was wearing a plain t-shirt, jeans and snickers and I was out drinking with some friends, cos that what normal people do!

I do look good, anyway, and thank gOD there's  a mirror on the hall so can somebody see me ;)

#37 it's me by the shore, always me by the shore

I get scared sometimes. My ability to get inside things and leave this world is enormous, it's like jumping a cliff, it's like being on air in this gigantic fall where I can see the pine forest on the bottom, always at the same scary distance. Books, movies, music, I can always get out of this world and jump one character to another, feeling everything like it's on my skin.

I told you, my darling, didn't I? that I live in a world of my own, right? I told you that my reality is different, that I'm not happy with this system, with these people, with humanity and with the fact that there are no wild cats running free in our woods. And I told you that in my world, Adolfo is a lion and my apartment is a small house in the forest and my work is full of beautiful people. I think we had time for the reality discussion, the truth doesn't exist but in our eyes and each one of us can, activelly, select the truth we choose to see. I remember, we were by the river side and I asked you if a butterfly had just passed by in front of us, and I saw it and you didn't, and it was the high moment of my day, how could we have the same reality of the end of the day? You, always pragmatic, answered that you believe in truth, the absolute one, and that only our brains are to simple to understand it.

Well, I am, as always, getting away from the point. What I meant to tell, my sweet soft hands boy, is that I am scared. Yesterday spent the afternoon reading your "Kafka by the shore". At first I was so happy - how can a stranger, after one dinner and one afternoon, select me such a perfect book, how could you read me so well. It's not easy to choose books for me. My older sister, who knows me since before I was born, misses 50% of the times. My brother in law is very good at it and now I'm starting to think that he is a little like me on the inside. But you? When everything in your world is the opposite of mine, who's life story never gave you flowers, and ice-creams by the sea, who never had the possibility of being 8 and spending the whole afternoon on the room floor surrounded by books and watercolours, who could you be so perfect on your choice?

But then, my dear, I'm thinking it might to be too much for me. I'm getting inside of it to the point that after 5 minutes of reading I'm no longer here, like I am in Japan, and I'm Sakura (there is a translation note the first time her name appears - Sakura - Cherry, Cherry Blossom, Cherry Tree and I hear us, in the car, Air playing Cherry Blossom Girl and me telling you that I am cherry blossom girl and you looking at my right shoulder and understanding and me explaining that maybe that was not such a good idea and you asking the tattoo? and me saying that it was not the tattoo itself, but the symbol and you said yes, cherry blossoms are the symbol of death) and you Kafka and you Nakata, the loneliest boys away from home and yesterday, just around 5pm you killed Johnnie Walker and I was so scared that I run to the gym, took 2 classes - gluteus and abs followed by pilates - just to get myself together, put all the energy down to a level where I would be able to sleep without calling you for a hug.

#36 he lives

and this is when i start to get nervous!

#35 9 words

for spam reasons, he gave her the wrong email

#34 oh boy...

... this is killing me!

#33 pranks of a multilingual brain that feeds on music

the only thing I have to say, my darling young one, is soube-me a pouco

#32 Underwater love

 

and most of the times, this is what one needs. a underwater day.

and it was cold, and it was moisty and it was Eire (so he said and he should know), and the water was freezing and still mother nature (oh sweet sweet mother) took us in. and the sounds of the leaves and the sound of the birds and the snails and the snake egg on the way...

and I still think I lost all my toes in those lagoons and just the idea that they may be feeding the little fish makes my heart jump

#31 Woody Allen speaking in my behalf

#30 telling my life with his words

I have no idea of what I'm doing. But, my darling, I said I was going to watch the movie and so I have to and I can only tell you that this just not a good idea and I've only seen the first 5 minutes and I'm already regreting yesterday's love letter and it's mention on Before Sunrise. The only thing that it's giving me some peace is the sincere hope that the letter ended up on your spam box or that you stick truth to yourself and accept my recommendation and never watch it.

First impressions - Julie Delpy is so much cooler than me and Ethan Hawke wished he was half as cute as you.

Minute 17 and you already heard twice the english speaking people speak only one language and I'm laughing hard because it happened to you when we where having drinks and I can't stop being sorry for you!

Minute 23 and I and Celine hate when people say we are so funny. Clowns are funny and I hate clowns. You said I was funny and I had to tell you about my post-grad in Lisbon when everyone I said was so funny and it was not funny at all because being different is not the same as being funny and just because my world is different and my accent is different, here in Lisbon or in US, doesn't make it funny and then you corrected it and you said unusual and I loved it because unusual is close to rare and rare things are unique and I like the idea that I am unique.

(this is going to be a funny afternoon, after all)

and scary
Minute 36 and I would never let a palm reader read my hand and this moment has nothing to do with you, my dear, but if I believed in palm readers I think they would tell me exactly this
"you're interested in the power of the woman, in a woman's strength and creativity of this woman. you're becoming that woman. you need to resign yourself to the awckerdness of life. only if you find peace withing yourself you'll find a truth conection with others"

oh baby, don't ever see this movie! ever, please! and it's just scary 'cos this is a letter that I will never send and I just have to hope that you don't suffer from Saudade and my mad mental disease of revisiting life and decide to check it, just for the fun and it might not be fun in the end 'cos I don't want you to hear me say things like in the minute 64, that I didin't say but you know I would and I couldn't even explain it again that your world is beautiful the way it is and that you don't need to be sharing it around like I do to make any sense out of it!

and BAM my darling, minute 78 and we were by the river and you may not know how that moment was so important for my life right now, and how much I enjoyed spending it with you.

and in the end I'm just glad we had 10 more years than those guys, I'm glad that we had sex and that we didn't waste a minute about the future, or the good-bye and that you kissed me and just said you have my email and I said I'll send you the receipt and that we didn't plan any second meeting and that we didn't have one single awkward moment and that this story is going to be forever and even this movie ended in a trilogy and those guys are married now with kids, since none of us believe in faith or destiny, we can write our own story. And I'm glad none of us sugested a meeting in Vienna in 6 months.

I'm just sorry for anyone that crosses this post because it doesn't make ANY sense and, to be honest, my life doesn't make any sense and there is really cool movie that tells a bit of my story and that is just creepy and great at the same time and I'm kind of ok with that.

#29 a most peculiar men

He was a most peculiar men. This was always one of my favorite songs from Simon & Garfunkel and I never really understood why but I've memorized the lyrics when I was a kid and I sometimes i still sing this song in the shower, enjoying it. It's a sad song and I always thought it was about a sad men and this weekend I met the most peculiar men and despite he lived all alone within a house, within a room within himself, (the most peculiar men) despite he had only 5 friends and seldom spoke, he spoked with me and we talked for hours and he told me everything and the most peculiar men was just the most interesting and amazing person on earth and he just didn't like to share himself with world but he shared himself with me and I can only thank god that I'm sure he would never commit suicide.

#28 a ridiculous love letter

Hello boy,

I was kind of insecure about writing you a long letter but I think I was honest enough with you for you to expect me to write you a long letter so I just needed to be honest to myself and send it. The long letter would eventually be written anyway since I like to write good stories and send long letters to strangers.

I just don’t know where to start. It was easier to have meaningful conversations when you were here, 5 minutes ago, although I don’t expect this letter either meaningful or a conversation. Ok, here we go (just cleaned the bathroom so I’m ready to go at least for a paragraph, before I go for the room). As soon as you left I thought to myself – what an amazing weekend! what a great love story! hiking, swimming, having philosophical discussions, cute boy with the softest hands in the world, laughing and drinking wine and having tapas…  and then I thought, crap! I’ve seen this before! and a movie popped up in my head and I said what a cliché! Have you seen (I know you haven’t and please don’t go and see it, it’s a girls romantic indie movie and I’m almost certain that your truth is different than mine) Before Sunrise? Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy meet on interrail train have philosophic conversations over wine and walks by the river and they know they only have until sunrise to do it ‘cos they are splitting the next day. What a cliché we are! (I’m going to watch the movie later just to see if we made better story - by the way, kind of a cheap tip leaving 1 cent on the hall floor, after what I did for you ;)!). And the strangest thing is me only remembering this now since we talked about the Waking Life movie which is also by the same director and both characters from Before Sunrise show up at some point having interesting bed talk and even when I’m writing you I’m feeling shocked and then Robert Flack sings “telling my whole life in his words, killing me softly” (and, I know, how corny of me… this was the moment when, if you were here I’d say - I know, I’m pretty ridiculous and you would say that you don’t like when I say ridiculous and you would say something like unusual and I would be ok with that).

Well, by now I just hope you’re smiling with your lovely eyes and no longer scared about receiving a letter from a stranger.

If not, I’ll try to explain it to you. And it meets the Saudade conversation. I write long letters to strangers (and I don’t always send them) because writing is a memory exercise. Once you write about some event, some discussion, you select the words and with that you are forced to relive the moment so it just sticks to your memory better. You would say that it’s living in the past, revisiting good memories as if we couldn’t have good moments in the present or in the future, like the Saudade thing we discussed in the car on our way from the beautiful afternoon by the river, and I would disagree and I would change the conversation to today’s 6am and the meaning of life bed talk and I'd just refute the reproduction theory and create a new one where I think that our goal in life is to live as well as we can and get to our last moments and check our memory and say – fuck yeah, what a good life I had, so many amazing stories, so many meaningful events, so many beautiful moments. And because everyday life will always have a huge portion on boredom, and routine, and disappointment, I write about the good things so when I’m 94 I’m able to recheck and say – God (and by God I mean God the expression not the creator), in 2014 I had a movie like love story for 48h and that is just crazy and cool. My grandmother died with Alzheimer’s and she had it maybe for the last 10 years of her life and it was just sad to see her sitting outside watching the roses and sometimes I think she had Alzheimer’s because she didn’t have a happy life so she didn’t have good memories to hold on to so she didn’t even want to exercise her memory. I don’t think she ever wrote a line. Or maybe she did have the happy moments (I’m pretty sure she did) and she didn’t plant them in a way she could revisit them and so she got Alzheimer’s and this doesn’t make any sense ‘cos you cannot prevent a disease just by writing long letters, I know.

And this is the moment when you think (and I have not a clue if this is what you think, how could I, you’re such a strange wonderful different person, I can only guess!) that I’m not really writing you, I’m writing to myself and I write long letters to strangers because I don’t like the “dear diary today I met a nice boy” literary style but, in my defense, if I may, I’d say that at least I’m sharing it and letting you know that I had a great time with you and that is just nice of me. Maybe? Or just the fact that even not believing in absolute truths, showing you my version of this weekend, this can be a funny thing and you can compare it to your memories and just laugh a little bit and say I didn’t see it this way, how strange we all are with our different perspective...

By now I’m kind of wondering if I’m really going to send you this letter or if I just save myself from the embarrassment and publish it on one of my anonymous private blogs that no-one reads. (I’ll leave the decision for later).

And then I realize that it’s not just for me and my memory, this letter. Well… it is in a sense that everything we do freely is a selfish act to make us feel good (and this is another subject – oh, we should have had this conversation! I would love to know your ideas about it!) but I wouldn’t be happy with myself if I didn’t tell you that you are the cutest guy ever and your hands are just so good to hold because they are so soft and that you look terribly sexy in those shirts of yours (and wet, on Saturday night, under the rain… just wow!) and that I’m happy that I didn’t even try to take a picture of you ‘cos I’m so bad at photography that I’m pretty sure that it could never match the image that I keep in the back of my eyes and then I remember the pictures Othe guys from the tour took and my favorite of you is the one where you’re wearing my sweater and it’s so cool of you to accept it ‘cos most guys, even freezing, would say no just not to look ridiculous and it’s so amazing how you don’t look ridiculous just because you don’t even care about it and that is so fucking rare and beautiful! (By the way, if you need a raincoat go for an orange one with a hoodie!) You called me unusual and I just think that you don’t have a slight notion of how unusual you are! And not only in my flower happy world, but in the real world where people go to work and have “normal” (I just hate this word) jobs and mortgages and fat kids and that jog only to look good on the eyes of the others. You, my darling, are the unusual one here. You’re so brutally honest to yourself, it’s just scary and I never met anyone like that. And your quietness on knowing the fucked up world we live in and still peacefully accept it… and I shouldn’t be writing these things, ‘cos now I really wish you were here just so I could steal part of that amazing way of being you got. Bam! Saudade!

It’s 16.24 and I haven’t eaten anything and my world just looks ridiculous (and now it’s really the appropriate word) and I just wish I was more like you and have the organized life and schedules and ability to look at the hours and say I should be eating ‘cos this is not healthy, so I’m going downstairs to get something and be back for this letter with some energy on my brain.

Ok, just did it and also took the walk to go to the book fair and bought Murakami’s “Kafka by the shore”. Funny story here – got there and said exactly what you told me to Murakami’s book something with Kafka on the title and the guys said oh, it’s that one that got destroyed by the rain on Saturday and I was like… oh… the rain on Saturday… and they showed me the book and it was actually another book and yes, it’s in a very bad shape, they won’t be able to sell it so I just asked for them to put a price on it ‘cos it’s still readable and I would like to keep Saturday’s night rain with me. (I’m honestly blushing while I write this and the only reason I can actually say these things is because we will never meet again). I’ll go back there at the end of the week to prevent the book and the rain to be thrown to the garbage – that would be a sad thing! And also – I’ve checked Murakami on internet and I was very happy to see that I will for sure love it (you are so right about it!) and I knew that when I saw that he wrote “Norwegian Wood”, probably the only Japanese movie I saw and loved it. I’m pretty sure you haven’t seen it – it’s not from the 50’s, it’s a 2010, or maybe you did ‘cos that was when you were there, right?, doesn’t matter, I loved it and if he’s honest and coherent with his writing I’m 100% I’ll love this book and hopefully the rainy one too.  And it feels good to have the book here and to see how big it is because that will keep you with me for a little bit longer. I might even need to write you a second letter to tell you my impression on it, I’m just not sure if I’ll send that one. (yes, I’ve made up my mind and you’ll get this silly love letter).

Some (beautiful) people say thank you for the great weekend and some others write long love letters while they could just say “it was honestly a pleasure to meet you and that you became such an amazing story of my life”. 

And because we also talked about Pessoa, the crazy Portuguese poet with multiple personalities (or he just isolated the different aspects of himself like I do) here is poem for you, with the words ridiculous and love letters together for you to find a proper translation (I’m pretty sure that even google translator can help you get the point)

Todas as cartas de amor são
Ridículas.
Não seriam cartas de amor se não fossem
Ridículas. 

Também escrevi em meu tempo cartas de amor,
Como as outras,
Ridículas.

As cartas de amor, se há amor,
Têm de ser
Ridículas.

Mas, afinal,
Só as criaturas que nunca escreveram Cartas de amor
É que são
Ridículas.

Quem me dera no tempo em que escrevia
Sem dar por isso
Cartas de amor
Ridículas.

A verdade é que hoje
As minhas memórias
Dessas cartas de amor
É que são
Ridículas. 

(Todas as palavras esdrúxulas,
Como os sentimentos esdrúxulos,
São naturalmente
Ridículas.) 

Álvaro de Campos, 21-10-1935

I could continue this letter forever and I might need, at some point, to write you another one on some kind of existential question or just to share a point of view, from my world to yours but now i’m about to let you go to your PhD quiet Professor life and I just hope you know that this letter doesn’t require a reply.

Just to finish in a less silly corny style, the author Ricardo told you should check was Miguel Torga, don’t forget to listen to the dialogues of the "Waking Life", watch Von Trier’s “Dogville”,  and read Marguerite 
Duras’ “The Sea Wall” (both on the decadence of the human being as an individual) and  - to finish with a POP touch - don’t forget to keep me in mind.

#27 being an auntie and having cats it's not an unhappy end after all

for a couple of months I needed my friends more than I needed a bath, or water, or air. I needed them at strange hours, I needed their attention, their care, their laps, their hugs.

You don't need a million friends. You need maybe 5 and I am the luckiest friend in the world.  They were there for me ALL the time. they heard things they didn't want, cleaned my tears, let me sleep on their couch, took me out even when I didn't want, made special plans for me, got insulted and didn't reply back. They were patient. They were calm and gave the best advices and the most sweet silences.

I've always needed my friends, to be honest. I love all my friends because they grew into me for so long that they are a part of me. I was the first one of the group to have a house of my own and it was the place for the everyday party, the dinners, the game nights, everything. The house was always full of friends, open doors.

On Fridays I used to call my best friend or just show up in her house for dinner. Today it's Friday so she called me and her baby girl (2 years old) said "Come over! Come aunt Helena! Come!" and it was the most beautiful thing in the world. I'm not going, I'm meeting a guy for wine and dinner and, to be honest, I think I'd prefer to be with that family and not the single girl going on a date but just be aunt Helena and the one that always brings wine for dinner.

Sometimes being an auntie is all one could ask for!

#26 good thing my knee is better and i can run again

the best thing about having a good imagination is that you can always add flowers and crazy and hapiness and amazing creatures to your life, even when it's dark
the downside is that reality always catches you, from time to time!

#25 you should flirt, he says

and he knows, cos he's a good psychiatrist.

i have to be honest that it sounded strange to hear that in this particular context. on a consult, by the doctor i didn't even wanted to go (i thought i could deal with it on my own, like i always do about everything). actually, it was pretty much - either you start flirting or i might need to prescribe you some medication - and god knows how i hate medications and the idea that i need drugs to clean this situation from my mind - i'm not that weak - i am quite strong - he's the weak and he's going around partying like nothing happened - i'm sure i can also do it - and yet i was still crying and hurting because he's dating a stupid girl and he used to love me a lot and other bullshit that actually don't matter anymore.

are you flirting, he asked? and i, tears in my eyes and heavy heart, no i'm not. you should, you know?, you should. naif flirts, 1 month boyfriends, nothing serious cos it's not time for starting serious relationships, you'll have time for that, silly flirting and kissing and dancing, he said and my heart heavy listening and still thinking i can't do that.

and then, after calling all the good friends, mom, sister, crying like a little girl 5 months after he left i just thought - what a waste of time, just like all my girls have been telling me since he left running like a 16 year old kid. what a waste of time!!!

you're so right, dear doctor, as always. flirting!!! flirting around with boys with brains, spreading my charm around, dancing in a mini-skirt and knowing one is looking from the distance, promising wine dates, book exchanges - oh must really read this, i'll lend it to you, i'll read it to you - or having a geographer insisting on taking me home by car after dinner when we are 2 streets aways from my house and seeing him taking 25 minutes, passing all the easy ways home - he knows the city, all the streets and paths - to drop me off.

you're good doctor. thank you.

#24 when life is good

yes, i complain about life, but the truth is that my life is amazing! when i stop for 5 minutes and i see where i am, what i've done, my family and the friends i got... the small business i created... if i died right now, i'd be terribly proud of what i left behind and i'm not sure that this happens to most people. i see frequently on social media the question "do you think your 8 year old you would be proud of you?" and think - hell yeah! exactly like my niece and my nephew look at me and say my aunt awesome!
i complain about life just because someone stabbed me in the back and it still hurts a little bit, but everyday less. exactly because i have always designed my own life, i made plans and follow them, changing them whenever they didn't fit me, because i've always payed attention to details and lived all my life by my own principles, this life is no stranger to me, it's really what wanted it to be.
today i started the day complaining. yeah, no boyfriend, no good plans for tonight, i'm not going to take a friend or a stranger to the realm of the senses so i'll go home alone and eat some cereals for dinner. self pity is such an easy thing to do... and so stupid at the same time...
5 minutes after I posted about it, a small sound came from the common room and i went to check it... and there was one of my guests, from Japan, playing psaltery, a middle east ancient harpa just for fun and just like that, my life was beautiful again.

 and then at the end of the day, and there used to be something special about this day, I was tired and I didn't want to go home, cos sometimes even the most amazing home, with flowers by the bed, isn't where your heart is, and you need some love other than the cat, I got a call from a friend for a glass of wine and only got home by 2 am, happy, to a home that then felt like home, to the love of the cat that everyday tells me I love you just because you exist and I'm happy you're home without asking for anything more than an arm he can lay his head and a hand where he can rubb his nose.

I have amazing friends in my life, I have a beautiful home, I have strangers playing strange old instruments for me, I have flowers and I have love on every corner, I have the sweetest cat in the world. Do I want someone to love me and that I can love back waiting for me at home? Of course I do! Do I want sex and cuddles and someone's shoulder I can lay my head when I'm tired? Obviously! But I don't need it like a drug. I'm tired but I can wait.