I am intoxicated by the real talk. Drunk on the luscious sweetness of being wanted wholly, unabashedly, out loud. Of the ferocity of my craving being match at every turn. I feel dizzy by the things laid bare, remembering what it means to be forthright, frank, how much I’ve missed it. The not needing to guess where I stand. Not having to resort to decoding inference and weigh actions in relation to silence. Not having to devote any time to wondering and waiting, freed to devote myself wholly to wanting.
I am reveling in being desired, each declaration, clear, to-the-point, a stake in the emotional landscape he’s determined to claim. I like it. It’s refreshing. There is peace in knowing.
But am I ready? To keep up this breakneck pace. To match this energy at every ebb and flow. To let go. To give myself over to something I was unprepared for. When my thoughts, my heart, were elsewhere.
I like it, but do I WANT it?
“I’m coming to get you, La. Believe that shit.”
I do. But am I ready to be got?