schweblog

Rather than discreetly exchange sweet nothings and loosen things up with a bottle of Chianti, I want it to be urgent and intense and entirely sober. It will be shot through with passion that feels like glass in your veins and a lightness that threatens to lift us from the bed if we don’t hold on. It will be heady and full of life and sensation, nothing less than perfect–or as close as it gets on a Tuesday night when we should both be doing something else besides this. But should is such a relative term.

I’ll look into your eyes and remember that there is the space between us, however minute, that will always keep us separated from one another. No matter how we position ourselves, it will be ever-present and insurmountable. But a simple gaze will remind us that there is something here–an act, a connection, a reaction–that makes the distance irrelevant. We are present and accounted for. We are sweaty and exhausted. And we are with each other.