I still cannot make love to his mind.
I could not put to sleep his mind on the last time that I tried to do it.
I wonder now, was I ever able to put his mind to sleep? Or was it always done for my by something else, like alcohol or weed? Or just his pain and grief overpowering his logical mind.
When I got the chance to hold his bright and burning brain in my naked hands, I was afraid of the light emanating from it.
I confess this to myself. I cannot make love to his mind as yet.
And as long it is so, I better stay out of his life. I better refrain from claiming that I love him. Because his brain is a huge part of who he is. And if I am unable to make love to it, I am unable to love him either.
My love is quite simply incomplete. My love is gravely lacking somewhere. And somewhere critical.
It is an uphill ride ahead and I want to climb. This mountain of love.
Because I know it in my bones, I love him the way I love myself.
I am yet to make love to my own brain and logical self. I am yet to fall in love with the physical and the material of my own existence.
The wild self in me has only been summoned in moments of weakened logical abilities.
It is yet to be summoned in utter conscious involvement.
I am yet to fall in love with a logical system finding its way to the illogical.
I am yet to fall in love with the process of logical notes creating an illogically beautiful melody.
I am yet to fall in love with the process of having the biological meet the emotional.
Emotional is where I have thrived till now.
Merging it with the physical is where I gotta go.