[100 days of 100 words] 41/100, catching up

Days pass, and other things grab my notice. A beautifully clean house. Perfecting my running form. A heart connection so strong it brings tears. And inspired by that, finally getting a copy of my marriage license. The business of living moves in at times, and so, we live.

Yesterday a package arrived for me, a thrumming crystal wrapped in deerskin, a haiku penned on paper made from petals. A reaching from a quarter previously hostile to me, trying for healing and peace.

When love surrounds, it can be hard to find words. For what it’s worth, here are a hundred.

[100 days of 100 words] 42/100 - he said

In therapy, she complained to the doctor that I didn’t seem “there” during sex. I wasn’t “present,” she said. She always got the sense I was thinking of something else, or maybe someone else.

She was beautiful, desirable. I loved fucking her. I don’t know what else she wanted. Maybe sometimes my mind was elsewhere. It happens when you’ve been fucking the same person for five years. Sometimes we tried new stuff, tried to keep it interesting. But underneath the silk scarf blindfolds and strawberries and whipped cream, it was still us. Still same old us.

And I loved that.

[100 days of 100 words] 43/100 - she said

I didn’t know what to say. How to define the problem. I only knew it wasn’t working for me anymore. I felt like he didn’t worship me the way he used to when we first got together.

God that sex was hot, back then. We used to go for hours. I know, you’ve heard it all before. The flame goes out after a few years, obviously. It’s an old story, and I knew the therapist would just be rolling her eyes at me, inwardly.

But how could I tell her that I come the hardest when I think about myself?