I sit on the floor of my bedroom looking out of the window. The sunlight has a golden hue and the breeze is cool on my skin. I like the color of the light and the cool breeze. It feels like a gentle balm to my aching soul.

If there were a Creator to whom we could attribute our gifts and weaknesses (and I am not saying there is), I would say they gave me a lovely animal-like sensuality. I purr or moan or close my eyes or smile when I like the way something tastes or feels. I don’t know that I’m good at translating these experiences into words. It would be nice to be a poet but I like the way my family dog raises his snout when I scratch his neck. It’s pure. It’s simple. It’s lovely. I like the way he communicates his appreciation even more than I like the way Shakespeare expresses his love in a sonnet.

Maybe the moment we use words to liken one thing to another (even if beautifully) we lose as much as we gain. It’s not that I never have words to describe experiences, but I find it so much more relaxing to simply….sip the beer and notice that it makes the sides on the back of my tongue tingle. I suppose those are words. But if you’re in a group of beer tasters the pressure is on to say that the beer has “piney hops” and I just want to say that I liked the sensation on my tongue and that it made my mouth water. I suppose I could never write about food even though I love food so much.

And I could never write erotica or sensual poetry even though I love touch and human bodies so much. I can sit here and remember the microscopic blond hairs on her thighs but can’t for the life of me describe it in an appealing way to anyone else. I can only say that it both excites and relaxes me and…well that probably doesn’t make much sense, does it? I can say how much my eyes enjoy thick, frizzy, feral hair but that wouldn’t make anyone else swoon. I like the geometry of the curve created between foot and ankle when the former dangles. It’s nice and it makes me melt.

I suppose all I’m trying to convey is that this hypothetical creator gave me the ability to see and appreciate these things in a very basic and pure way. But the weakness (well I can’t blame a “Creator” for this but I’m going to do it for the sake of consistency) is that I have a sort of leak inside of me. All of this sensuality and love for life that I have right there in me…it goes to waste amidst all of the pain. The pain is so intense that I forget how much my life force is connected to all of these sensual things. And even writing this now I can feel how my life force is blocked and how my pain is up. It’s like I’m describing someone else and yet…I know it’s me.

I’m so deficit focused that instead of being content with the way I can enjoy things so much I focus on how I have much less to enjoy. Fingernails scratching my head…it’s heaven. It makes me close my eyes like my dog does when I pet him. But I can only think that there are no fingernails to scratch my head. I cry and kick and scream that I adore feeling the softness of another person’s skin but have no skin to really touch. I get so lost in the pain of everything that is missing and in the hopelessness of it ever changing that…it makes it impossible for anything to ever change. I get stuck looking at how someone who loves to touch (and be touched) has had so little in their life. And yet there is this weird irony to it all: sometimes I think that I developed this “gift” precisely because of the deficits. Watching. Looking. Listening. Sensitively noticing everything (when I’m not lost in pain).

The delivery is here. I’m going to go eat a burrito now. And maybe I’ll take some small consolation in the fact that I will enjoy that burrito as simply as my dog enjoys his treats. Maybe I can just be…an animal.

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