What Do You Know (You’re Just a Kid) Ch. 9

As far as advice is concerned . . .
Everyone has advice. There’s always someone out there who is eager to let you know about theirs.
At the same time, when it comes to love or when it comes to your love-life or the struggles we face regarding love, or the lack thereof; or when it comes to that feeling in your chest that you can’t explain yet you know it’s there – or when it comes to that moment in time when beauty is chaos or confusing, but when you see “her” or when that special person walks in the room –
I swear that all of a sudden, everything you knew and everything you thought or believed and possibly imagined somehow changes.
And it happens. “Just like that.”
I promise you.

There is something to be said about the awareness of the moment which takes place between the before and after – like the time before “she” walked through the doorway or entered the room. Then “just like that,” the moments after you saw “her” for the first time becomes the most unmatchable moment in your life.
I promise you.
I promise you that there will be an episode in your life or, at minimum, there will be a moment when life changes in the blink of an eye – and yes, this will be defined by you as the moment between before and after.

I have read poems about this, I have seen movies about this too – about the before and after, which is to define this moment as special and pivotal because at the moment of introduction, life pivots in a way that no one else could possibly understand.
No one else will ever see this the way you do or through your eyes.
I promise you.
However, when it comes to love or when it comes to advice about love; or when it comes to the argument of whether this is real or love exists, or when we talk about how to express this or show it; or even better when it comes to the bravery it takes to express love or to share your love freely, as if to be unconditional and flowing like an unending stream, regardless of the rocks and breaks we find in life, and despite the moments where the waters run red with anger or the streams turn like rapids and all you have is the stick-to-itiveness to hold on without regret or without wavering – I think that since this is a time for honesty between you and I that it would be inaccurate of me to say, “hey, listen to me” as if my advice is the one to follow.
It’s not.
I promise you.

Therefore, I offer no advice – only an advisement.
I can tell you what I did and I can share with you, both freely and with full abandon. I am here to offer this with the hopes that by a power of example, this entry will either inspire you to lean in wholeheartedly or otherwise, perhaps this can act as an advisement on what “not” to do.
My aim is to illustrate what happens when that moment between before and after takes place.

And love? Man, I’ll tell you.
Love is crazy.
And young love?
As in teenage love for the first time or real love and true love.
All of this is real.
I can say that yes, this exists.

I can say that lust has a way of confusing us as well and that in the midst of the cosmically spiritual, emotional and especially when it comes to the physical uprising that takes place; as in the fits of the body’s earthquake or that amazing and orgasmic eruption – ah, when all of this happens and when this takes place and this, yes this, this is it.
This is that time which is stamped between before and after because for the first time in your life, your body experiences a beautiful violence. Your soul literally emerges from what I can only define as an erotic explosion; or when it comes to that moment, right after, as in right after the greatest relief our body’s could own; when the after-shock takes place and ah . . . that feeling overwhelms us, I can tell you that there is nothing else in the world that feels this way.
This is the best physical, emotional, spiritual and emotional celebration of all – this is the moment when everything changes. Your body is absolutely drained – and yes, there is something to this.
There is something amazing and as you lay there with your counterpart, or as your legs intermingle beneath the sheets – your body is entwined and your soul is emptied, you are exhausted and, quite honestly, nothing in the world exists anymore.
This is the art of making love. But no . . .
I’m not sure if anyone ever talks about this.
This is that moment. This is when all of the previous inhumanities are temporarily suspended.
Nothing matters, not even the fights which took place before the so-called “make-up” session, which began like an angry escapade and resulted in some kind of sexual revolution.
Nothing else matters.
All the lights could go off or the world could shut down.
But who would care?
I left myself inside of her.
She has me in her now.
Nothing spells love, quite like this.
I promise.
But again, I don’t think anyone talks about this.

Everything is boiled down to this very moment which you’d wish could never end.
The smell of them or the feel of their body or the way their skin matches when it touches against yours or their kiss – yes, their kiss!
Holy shit!
This too is a moment that marks between the before and after. This is what stamps an uprisal in your heart. This is what separates life by a period of time. This is the afterwards.
This what happens after every muscle clenched to its tightest hold and again, explosively and eruptively, but in all certainty and the most beautiful regard, this is what takes place after your bodies collide in such a way that all else is less than secondary –
or otherwise unimportant.

And yes.
Yes, this is real.
However, it is easy to lose sight of things. It is easy to lose sight of the importance of the moment. It is easy to lose sight of the simple things like the way someone holds your hands because eventually and in all fairness to real life; unfortunately, our ceremonies between the sheets are often interrupted by life and life’s little bullshit games.
We can lose sight of beauty.
We can lose to emotional catastrophes or the irrational insecurity we all have which is what causes us to fear the subsequent losses of such beauty and passion. This is what causes the mind to pause out of caution, in fear of our true vulnerabilities.

It is brave to love someone.
And yes, this is where I failed both myself and my love.
I admit this and no one else can condemn me for (at least, not any worse than I have condemned myself).

Love is living and breathing.
This means that the same as we need air or food or shelter and warmth, or like the same way that fire needs oxygen, heat and fuel to burn; love has needs too – and should we douse or forget and remove one side of these needs, whether this is out of fear or some kind of selfish regard, or whether we are cold to the touch or if we forget that love itself needs warmth and attention so that the fire can grow to an unstoppable proportion; or should we forget any side to the trinity of love, such as the oxygen, the heat or the fuel; the fires in our heart can become cold and sparkless.

Please, don’t let this happen to you.

I can remember being young and experiencing something in my heart. Yet, I can also remember my own bullshit and selfish regard.
I can remember my need for the thrill or the need for that so-called “private touch” and fetish-type ideas that no one talks about. I have these.
I have thoughts too. Deep ones..
I have sexual thoughts and I have allowed myself to detail this in my mind.
I have allowed myself the right to perfect this in my head, a thousand times, again and again – repeatedly, so I can remember.

I can recall the sight of someone or the thought of “something,” which, to me, this was all-too enticing or inviting and yes, there was something in me that burned like a fire, unstoppable as ever, and no – nobody ever talked to me about this. No one ever said to me, “Legs . . . they are pretty incredible, right?”
So is the rest of her, just for the record.
No one ever told me about desire. No one ever talked to me about the way I would worship or value the swerve of someone’s hips.
No one ever told me anything, at least not anything beyond the basics of “the birds and the bees.”

I was told, “You’ll understand when you get older.”
“You’ll see. . .”
Maybe this was true. But no.
This did not help me when I needed it most.
I agree that we learn when we get older, at least to some degree.
I can and will concur that yes, I do understand more but at the same time, there are moments and times and aspects of my younger life which acted like tiny thieves. I say we all have tiny thieves of our own which steal pieces of us in the night and when it’s cold or when we are scared, we forget to feed the warmth to our fires.
We forget the heat and the oxygen and fuel; hence, the fires die before our eyes.
This happens like a time-elapsed film, like the ones we used to see back in science class.
Remember?
This is the films of when a flower evolves and forms from a bud, and then it blooms and flowers, and then wilts and dies.
This is what can happen when love is uncared for.
I promise you.
This is what goes on when love is starved or when the internal weeds of our insecure notions and our worst, irrational fears grab hold of the roots to our love, and they choke the shit out of them. Then yes, this is what happens and love absolutely can wilt and die.

It’s sad and it sucks and yes, you wonder what the hell happened.
You wonder if you ever really knew this person or was anything they told you real.
But it was.
Love was just unfed or not fed properly or unnourished.
This happens too.
(I promise you)

Why can’t love and life be simple? Why can’t this be as simple as that beautifully eruptive moment?
Why can’t life be like the celebration which happens when two bodies collide?
I ask this because, at that moment, or in the moments following when the oceans of her body have accepted me in such a way that I have spent myself her seas; nothing else in the world, not the bills that need to be paid or the worries in my heart and the troubles in my head exists anymore.
At times like this – and as truly as I can say, there is no fountain of youth better than this one. Nothing is as lively as this because this feeling and emotion is youthful at any age.
And by the way, this is more than sex.
This is more than the act of making love.
No, this is the body’s revolutionary war.
This is a battle that can rival any other because in this victory, which takes place after a sexual explosion, and all is won and all is conquered, and yes, all there is to do now is sleep or rest or catch your breath; now is the time to reflect, for no other reason to reset and reload so you can replay this game one more time and get set, so you can do it again.

No one ever tells you this.
But I will.
Love is a brave responsibility. You can’t relax with this or be all-too forgiving when it comes to your emotional laziness. Love needs more.
Or wait. No.
Love deserves more
(and so do you).

Don’t let go.
Don’t stop your love or the motions it takes to gain momentum.
Do not allow the weeds of hate to feed on the roots of your love.
Do not lose sight of this feeling and keep this growing in your heart.
Do this so that times and moments are not only unforgotten, but equally, they grow to an unstoppable proportion. Allow this to build and become insurmountable so that your heart and your desires reach a pure and unmatchable plateau.

No one warns you that life and love comes with peaks and valleys.
But I will.
No one warns you about the heartaches and the heartbreaks and yes, I can say these are the culprits that have deterred me from the path.
They suck . . .
But no one ever says it this way.

Yes, if I am being honest and if I am choosing to expose my weakness; or better yet, to exploit my most undesirable traits, then yes – I admit that as a means of protection or to keep from being hurt and to guard my heart instead of share myself openly, I doused the needs to burn the fires within.
I did this because in a more selfish regard or in a fearful concern that I would be “the fool” again, I allowed myself to succumb to my thoughts. I gave in to an emotional sickness and regardless of my intention – and admittedly, to guard myself from the hurt and pain, I am guilty of inflicting my worst fears on to someone who did not deserve this
I am guilty of hurting someone who was the pivotal moment between my before and after.

Do you understand?

I offer no advice. I only offer my experience that yes, love can be evasive and yes, love can be brutal and painful.
At the same time, love can break your heart.
Love can destroy and drain you of all your dreams.
However, should your love be fed and cared for and should we treat our love like a living, breathing thing and should we choose to nurture our love the way Mother Earth and Father Time choose to nurture the child of life; then yes, love can be more rewarding than anything else in the world

Before and after.

I remember being a kid and rehearsing what I would say, just in case “she” decided to talk to me. I remember practicing what I would say, just in case “she” decided to turn or to look my way.
There were times when I wanted to express myself. I wanted to scream from the rooftops.
I wanted expose myself in such a way, both humbly and vulnerably.
I tried to practice this . . .
I wanted to show everything and share everything as if to hold everything I have in my hand; as if to encapsulate my heart in a tiny stone, brighter than any diamond.
As if to offer me in a proposal and in my offer, not even the most precious diamond in the world could engage the finger like my heart, which I held in the palm of my hands, extended outward to her.
I wanted this.
I have always wanted this. But I have to admit, the truth becomes a beast which breathes down my neck and threatens to expose my lies to anyone who would listen.
I was never brave or honest or careful enough to honor this truth.
In my selfishness, I forgot to regard the three needs for the fires to burn. I lapsed on the oxygen, the heat and the fuel and since my emotional hurdles came from within, I failed to nurture this properly.
I failed to feed, cloth, warm and shelter this thing we call love – hence, I found myself like this . . .
alone.

I can remember rehearsing what I would say if “she” looked in my direction.
I practiced this like a script. I did my best to perfect the role.
I had to perfect this so that when the time came, I could pull this off without a flaw.
But I was out of my head.  Of course, I was.
Of course, in the drinking years, I was really out of my head.
I can remember my bouts with liquid courage or the séance that took place with Jack Daniel’s or Southern Comfort. I could mix this with any other mash or drinks of the sort – and I tried to pull off my trick.
I tried to remember my lines, as in the lines I rehearsed, but when it was time pull this off – I was out of my head. I was either uncomfortable or my timing was off or, otherwise, I can remember the awkwardness of my approach which is why I was always too afraid to make the approach in the first place.

But can I tell you something?
Can I tell you about my fascinations?
Can I tell you that when I saw her, or at that pivotal moment which takes place between the before and after, there is not a part of “her” that I could possibly ignore.
There is nothing about her, from head to toe. Not one part. Not one piece.
I say this because, if allowed, not one section or one inch of “her” body would ever go unnoticed.
I promise.

Safe to say that I have always wanted love.
Safe to say that I was not always brave enough to share my love, or that my cowardice took hold and it would be suffice to say that I spoiled the ingredients that love needs for its fires to rage – so it can grow.  

Please do not do this.
Don’t do what I did.
Do not forget that love is living and breathing.
Do not settle with this.
Do not allow yourself to grow cold because when fire needs heat, your heart is the only thing that can survive this frost.
This is the only way you can rekindle this daily, so your love will never burn out or fade away.

I promise.

Just know that selfishness is the weeds that kill the roots of our flower – and the flower is love.
Do not allow this to happen. Do not forget your place or allow yourself to forget what it took for you to meet “your” person – and me, I mention the word “she” in quotation marks to emphasize “her” importance and to punctuate the fact that “she” was and is deserving of everything.

This is love. But no one talks about love like this,
at least not men.
At least, if some men do, no one talked like this to me.
But, I wish that someone did.
I wish someone told me “it’s okay.”
Show her your heart. . .
Let it go, kid.
She will see you and come running.
Believe it.
Don’t run and don’t settle.
Don’t give yourself away, unless she deserves it.

I was told, “None of your ex’s have anything good to say about you.”
Then I was told, “That tells me everything I need to know.
I bow my head with all humility.
I surrender to this.
I acknowledge this.
I do not condemn nor argue this either.

No – but I can look to improve. I can look to advance because while the facts remain, it does take two to make the fires burn, I can say that yes, I failed in my approach.
I own my accountability.
Not with shame.
But with an honest heart.
I own this.
I can agree to my faults and flaws and acknowledge my imperfections and surely, I can account for my sins as well as my own internal or unfortunate ugliness.
I do not hide this because if I do, I will never improve or advance from this.
But for the record, it would be inaccurate to say that I am without or incapable of love.
No, I am capable alright.
I am absolutely capable.

And “her” so to speak –
When it comes to “her” in my best estimation and after my careful consideration, I have come to this conclusion. Love is alive.
I believe in this.
I believe in the thrill of my fantasies and with a mischievous smile, I admit to my unspoken urges and simple fetish-like ideas, to which hey – to each their own right?
Love and life and sex are built and meant to be renewed and lived each day.
So?
What are we waiting for?
We all have our own secret desires.
We should explore them too.
But for the record and also for your viewing, when it comes to “that” person and when it comes to sharing yourself with someone, or when it come to the emotional value of that person who stamps the time in your heart between before and after – never hold back.
Not once.
I ask you to do this for me.
Never hide yourself.
Show them anything and everything you can – show them, almost as humbling as a man on one knee during his proposal, and whenever possible or even when it seems impossible; love her like this.
Let yourself explode, beautifully and trust in your heart that no engagement ring in the world could be comparable to the value of your love.
Not even money could replace this person as your gem.

Love her.
Or him.
Or you can involve whichever pronoun you’d like here,
But yes,
Love with all your heart.
Otherwise, the fires in your heart can burn out and then you can freeze to the coldest proportion.
It’s like winter when the sun is absent of warmth.
Everyone else who has someone can smile and all else are warm –except for you.

Please, don’t let this happen.
That would be my only advice.

Oh, and as for my fetish-like thoughts for you and your naughty little curiosity – I will leave you with this in mind.
In my best attempt and eagerness to please, going forward, if given the chance, or if allowed to love, there is not a part of her that I will not pay attention to.
There will not be a piece of her that I will not lick, kiss or suck upon for lengthy amounts of time.
I will do this with all that I have (and more) just so that when she erupts and collapses, it is my chest that she falls asleep on – and she will never want to let me go. And then . . .
it will be me.
I will be the one who stamps the time between her before and after.

Forever~