Arrival

     I've developed a strange emotional cocktail.  A feeling more severe than anticipation is flooding my mind.  I feel as if I've leaped so far into to the future, I'm mourning the loss of tomorrow.  I miss a man I have never met.  I deeply wish he would return to me, although his plane hasn't even arrive yet.  Damn.

     We've been in deep contact for what feels like a year or more.  Chatting.  Conversing.  Fondling each other thoughts in hot sessions of phone sex.  But I've never seen him in motion.  I've never smelled his scent.  I've never, so much as, shaken his hand.  But, I know him.

     Sour thoughts are reverberating throughout my mind.  What if there's no chemistry?  What if he finds me unattractive?  What if he thinks I stink?  I have to remind myself that he knows me, too.  He stayed on the phone with me as I fought with cashiers.  He continued to chat with me as my drunken fingers expressed my deepest, misspelled thoughts.  He takes my abuse, laughing as he dusts it off his shoulders.

To make such a big step

To cross time zones to visit

He must, at minimum, like me.

     Perhaps, he is, in a way, returning to me.  When I see him for the first time, an introduction isn't even possible.  I know him already.  When we make first physical contact, it would be a confirmation of a touch I've lived several times in my dreams.  I felt him already.  Shit.  He is indeed meeting me again...  This time, in a closer setting; but no more real.  The Chatting.  The Conversing.  The fondling of our thoughts has proven to be a tangible, sturdy foundation.

6:15 p.m.

I must remind myself in the meantime

He must, at minimum, like me.

"Decadence" (Featuring Sasha Marini) by Alberto Rugolotto