drunkencynic's Diaryland Diary


love is...

Nothing in the world is as wonderful as that feeling I get when I'm singing, voice fully warmed up, and I'm singing a beautiful song. Today, among other things, I sang Past the Point of No Return from Phantom of the Opera. For those of you who don't know the song (shame on you!) the lyrics are quite lushly gorgeous. And sexy. "Past the point of no return, one final question...how long should we two wait before we're one? When will the blood begin to race, the sleeping bud burst into bloom, when will the flames at last consume us?"

And my voice was perfectly warmed, effortlessly gliding in my highest ranges, and I was floating. Even a good fuck can't compare to being in the thralls of a good lesson.

Well, okay, I'm lying. Not much is better than a good fuck. But singing comes close.

I almost told JR I loved him on the phone last night. I was very tired. Despite the fact that I'd quite firmly told him that love doesn't exist.

To which he said (obviously I'm paraphrasing), "No, there is love. Just not the kind we've been programmed to expect. Like today, when I hiked back up the mountain to recover my sunglasses [he'd lost them in the grass when we went and it was too dark to find them when we left. Of course later I disovered he'd had a flashlight in his bag the whole time, was just too spaced out to remember it], and I just sat there, taking in the sunset and the sky...that was love. And tonight, listening to the piano being exquisitely played, on the floor, this incredible feeling, in a trance, that was love."

...see why? The internal struggle? He's incredible.

And I must be attention-starved, because I miss him already and it's been, what, thirteen hours since we talked last?

Je suis pathetique.

But yes, there is love. Love is in beauty. In the sight of a gorgeous sunset-streaked mountain, in a perfect song, in my little sister's toothless, open smile. In that recherché mocha Anthony made for me the other day that I sipped while watching the rain fall inches from my arm. In the way I feel after I'm told I'm beautiful. In the feeling of having a whole day to do nothing but cater to your whims. In a masterful book. In a flawless orgasm. In the happy little quirks life throws your way. Chocolate, of course, is love.

I do, however, seem to be feeling extreme affection for JR.

2:39 p.m. - 2003-08-28


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