Dear friend.
I had a myriad things to say.
But then you know, suddenly, everything began to whittle down in my head into the most fundamental form, perhaps the way skin both sublimates and settles into particle upon particle of dust, never ceasing to touch surfaces. Simply because everything is matter.
Simply because everything matters. And so, very simply, such is love: to love someone, we later on learn, is not so much wrought on our want to own and be owned by someone, but on our want to be free with someone.
So do not be worried. Because at the end of the day, we really are all alone – no matter how relationship-oriented one is, no matter how deeply intertwined couples are, no matter how solid a partnership stands – we are all alone. And one’s awareness of this is precisely what relationships must bank on: each one a solitary human being, accompanying the solitude of another. Skin to skin. Bone to bone. Particle to particle.
So i will say, simply enjoy the confusion of being in love, but with as much clarity – as if beholding dust particles dance under light.
I hope to hear from you soon. Update me.
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I didn’t expect your call. You are very welcome. This is also a great pleasure for me, to inscribe these things in the context of certain situations – in this case, yours – as I learn in the process of thinking them out as well. And, thank you. You gave such a wonderful evaluation of the imagery I used, you beautified it with your interpretation. I am very glad you got what I intended to mean by the sublimation – not that I ever doubted you would, of course not – just that I’m glad my language did not fail me, as I always tend to think it would with my sudden sporadic expressions.
Now allow me to add: Love your skin. It holds all the vulnerable parts inside of us in place, and beholds all the arresting parts outside of us as space. It seals in as well as springs forth compactness and distance.
And yes, precisely: skin, like love, aspires to mediate between what we receive and what we perceive in this world. Distinguishes yet connects our external and internal realities. Churns memory out of common experience, sense out of stimuli. Skin. Through which love’s passage is a permeated permanence. Moments are turned into monuments. And sure bodies will grow old, or better yet, give in to gravity – perhaps the law of attraction is nothing more than two bodies recognizing that which is grave, or that which carries much weight, pressing on us tenderly and encouragingly until our skins wrinkle. And that graves, really, are nothing more than gaping mouths on the earth lusting after bodies that had once loved freely.
The skin, like love, is what tells us, that the point of contact and separation are one.
Like a kiss.
You hold while you let go.