Ok, ok

My friend tagged me in a note on FB, titled “In Search Of” in which she wrote about the man of her dreams. My favorite section is: “I need to see your intellect, I need to see your mind, I need you to overflow with beautiful knowledge and beautiful words. I need you to challenge me, to question me, to drive me, to feel me, to understand me, to want me without ever having to touch me.”

I thought that was beautiful, and quite inspiring as I haven’t written anything the least bit creative recently besides a title for my Gothic Literature class titled “There’s Nothing Weak About Sensibility” (it was an analysis of sensibility and virtue present in Ann Radcliffe’s the Romance of the Forest).

So what do I want in my ‘dream man?’ Who knows.

—- the following is pretty much impromptu, hope its not bitterly confusing—-

The man of my dreams, I think, will be nothing like the knights of fairytales. He may be strong, but strong in the sense of self-control. He will subdue his emotions but when he is with me I want to set him aflame. I want to drink from his mouth the daily rustlings of his psyche, his bitter regrets and dreadful lamentations. I want to take them into myself and save him for tomorrow. I want to read his soul with my eyes and I want him to read my flaws with his hands, reaching….in, out, across canyons, into valleys of sanguine passion, essences of which will linger long after the draft sweeps into the room. I want his body heat, the touch of skin to radiate and waft over me, cloak me in the perfect humid climates of selfish want. take me for youself. Please. And when we have strength enough to walk away from the wreckage, hand in hand, i want this man, the man of my dreams, to look me in the face and freeze time with intelligent conversation and potent nothings.  But in the end, I want him to want to replace his daily nothings with myself. By day, he is a creature of the world, but when he is with me, he is mine. To others, to outsiders, he can wear the pants, but I want to be the force that rips them from his legs before the thought itself can manifest on my mouth. Most of all, I want the man of my dreams to be there when I wake, ready to profess that I am novel, in an amnesiatic kind of way. I want to be new, and interesting for him, but I want to know him better than I’ve known any other person, place, or thing. Still, I merely want to be decieved into thinking I know everything. Sometimes, there is nothing more intriguing to the mind than being wrong. I want my mind to be sent on quests, my thoughts to arrest and exploit his existence. i want the power from him all to myself, only to realize that because he is the source of it all, I am his slave. Punish me, for when it is the lash that one seeks, there is nothing sweeter than the blood from whence it came. We could call it love, for lack of a better word.

_K.V._

~ by kathaireinv on March 2, 2009.