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The Middle Way.

by  laurafraser

Posted: Thursday, August 25, 2005
Word Count: 451
Summary: This was an attempt to try and catch that feeling of being in love and yet always a victim of that rather egocentric flaw of thinking that 'the grass s always greener...' of caring deeply for another, but not so sure of what you want... been away for a while, lots of poems/stories i need to read and looking forward to doing so... Happy Days, L x




And now I see you again,

My darling most beautiful man and yet I love another. Love I say, I am not in love, I love this man more than any other I have been with. He understands me. He loves me. Has the biggest heart. He is the most lost. He needs me the most.

And I need?

I need? I need him. No, that is not true. I do not need anyone, but I desire him, I love him, I ache for him when he is not with me and yet at times my capricious Capricorn goat-self raises her head and I think thoughts that later I admonish away and am almost shocked by.

I feel guilty. I look at this man who I say I love and I love and I love you, yes I whisper in his ear as we make love I love you, as we cook I walk past him and say I love you I love you I love you and as we kiss we watch each others eyes and say to one another I love you, I love you so much. I love you I love you I LOVE YOU. It is as if we are squeezing out these words, caressing them as they slip seductively and lovingly through each other ears. And I mean them, when I look at this boy, so much not a man, but like all boys wanting to be, wanting to find his love that he can protect and look after and be called the saviour. Boys who want to save before they have been found, not aware that the task they set themselves will never be complete because they are marooned on an island somewhere where the waves crash too loudly for their screams to be heard. I hear his - this man-boy. Everyone can hear someone’s. Not all can hear anyone’s, they are too deafened by the sound of their own. And here is someone wailing in front of me, in my arms, in me. And I stroke him, I bite him and lick him and make love with him and we laugh and we giggle and he is my perfect playmate. And then this goat who is also a fish- ahh, therein lies the crux of this fickle heart, wanting to climb to the top of the mountain to get the best cud, but missing the feel of the ocean on my scales – thinks of others, one a boy, one a man. The middle way, urged Buddha, find the middle way. And here is someone, who is in the middle and yet I look at him and think of another type. Different. More extreme.