We're back from that trip now, and much like religion - took what we liked with us and left the rest.
Highlight of the last several months has been looking through the digital camera's travel pictures while sitting in an absinthe bar in the French Quarter and blushing through the alcohol.
Insofar as this morning is concerned, there is something precious about waking up alone and aware that the sun is shining outside. Stretching, feeling the delightfully sore reminders of a night of utter carnage. Getting up and smiling at the trail of clothes throughout the house, vibrators on the floor, and the knowledge that he probably has a black lip and a flayed back at the very least.
Romance sometimes makes me want to fuck, I discovered. (In lieu of 'making love,' that is.) I had a moment of jealousy in a bar last night and when I asked what they'd been talking about, he told me that she had asked him how he knew we were right for each other, how does anyone know, how do you know if it's worth it, etc - to which he replied, "There shouldn't be that many questions. You just know."
He recounted this conversation to me in his heartbreakingly honest way that he has about him, and I decided at that moment that he was getting fucked. As luck would have it, he had similar plans, although they included me being pinned down with my head lolling off of the edge of the bed and receiving a righteous pounding. No complaints here, although my hair looks this morning like I'm trying to make dreadlocks.
Yeah - It's time for a showah.
Life - she's alright, yanno?
Currently feeling: happy
Sway to: Pink Floyd: Another Brick In The Wall Part 2