Expectation is the Root of All Heartache

Shakespeare’s words, my disillusion.

It was five in the morning, my normal time for struggling with the scattered winds that sift through my mind and somehow stumble into a readable form. It felt wrong to have left the her, though physically she was only a half dozen steps away. In the predawn silence I could just make out the soft purr of her breath. The rhythm and innocence of her deep sleep was soothing it caressed me even though I sat before a glaring screen stiff and anxious.

It was a caress I felt unworthy of. Why should I sit in the safety of her unknowing sleep and analyze that which was shared? Can one critically dissect the shared actions of the two?

The night before tumbled forward in my fogged memory. Caught in a world of alcohol, scattered laughter, and desperation a flurry of fantasies emerged and left sensibility staggering. Inhibition, the gatekeeper of fear and inadequacy, had left the keys to the cage of propriety on the table and we unlocked the only barriers to restrain the urges of unknown depths that lingered in the recess of yearned fantasy. We chastised morality.

The first moments were dizzying, a staccato of blind pulses. The thought of crossing into the forbidden was not tentative. It was gulped like the thirst of a dying soul in the desert. Could naked lust be satiated? Could a rampage of madness consume our moments and be enough to smite, to obliterate, the lingering hindrances that our own morality attempted to shackle us with.

Ripping and pouring over each other, the moment of intimate sharing became an aggressive entanglement of attack and dominance. There was no pain, no physical harm, yet the unbridled desire to give and consume in a whirlpool of pride and vulnerability left soiled tracks in the untouched snow of our intentions.

Mutually ravaged and gorged we crumpled after the eruption of passion and held ourselves, held our inner being, as splintered slivers of thought searched for an island of understanding. We wanted to reach for a glimmer, a shred of truth to explain how the animals in us had been unleashed. Where had we disappeared to when the beasts came out to play?

Her touch started the second journey of understanding. Initially hesitant, almost regretful, an…

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