To you, from me.

An Open Letter to the Fellas,

I remember the first time my childish eyes beheld a boy, one that I would crave.  That odd moment one has that lives forever, not only in the mind but in the nose and ears, the hands and the lower belly.  The mind holds your face, a pimple or two, eyes wide, a sprig of brown hair.  In my nose the scent of salt water, acrid, familiar.  The sounds of a boy bakers dozen, laughing and skateboard wheels screaming at the pavement.  My hands held the bottom edge of a Seaside Seagull athletics department tee, dried on the line and scratchy, softening with my sweat.  But the movement in my belly will always last, be the most acute.  I feel it now and as deeply as I did then.  I feel it every time my body sees you, then and today.  It is that thrilling pain that like an orgasm comes so fast and unexpectedly, leaving the body weakened and vulnerable to all forms of torment.   It is that Achilles heal inside of me that I endeavor the strongest to bury under miles of earth and wood.  That memory that grows distant with the hours that I pass, only to be shoved into the forefront of my mind, a car wreck, a speeding train.

I never seek you.  My eyes, ears, hands, belly, brain, look past you, pretend they see the person just to your left.  You came to me.  You make me look and sense.  And then I am lost.  My weakness realized and you strike.  That quiet moment in my bed when my armor is balled up at the base of my bed.  I have barely slept because you are the first man I have let stay over and the excitement and inconvenience of it has my mind and body rearranged.  It was like you trained your whole life to acquire this killing precision.  Not a word or movement out of place.  And so badly I want to believe.  When you hold so much back and work diligently to protect the spark that flickers, a secret part of you prays that some brave man with see it and strike his candle.  You want to be illuminated just as desperately as you fear the light.  So that moment is one of great risk.  Usually it passes with little fan fair.  The walls hold and the banner men keep the war outside.

A women never wants to gut the man she desires.  She wants him whole and godly.  She wants to feed him and see his muscles jump with heat.  I wonder what a man wants from the women.  I feel like the mounted head on a cabin wall.  I feel like the idiot who does not see.  But the truth is, I do.  I see what you are doing and I let you do it any way because in that moment I want nothing of safe.

Truth is not only in the realness, it is also in the consideration of what can be damaged.  We are strong.  We hold the world in our hearts.  But like all stone fortresses, it is the cracks, not the mortar, that define our strength.  Knowing how to get in and ravage does not mean that you should.  Don’t we serve you better intact?

Today I open my windows and ask that if you don’t want to walk a while with me then please let me where you found me.  I was fine then and will continue on far better knowing that I am wanted, not by you, but by the dream of someone like you, someone in the future that wants to not only come inside, but someone who wants to stay.