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Kasekosmos · 31-35, F
ShockWave1983 · 36-40, F
Simple answer-exercise and running up a hill. More complicated answer. (and not that i have had this in some time ) Intimacy. No- I do not mean sex. I mean simple- or complicated, intimacy. In it's rare and unabashed form.
It can be as simple as holding hands at twilight or along a walk along a beach in the sand, barefoot.
Two sitting together in a love seat and sharing a Coke- one straw- and watching a movie. With the living room lights dimmed.
Intimacy is what the heart remembers and what gets emboldened to the soul. Sex may be important- but it is soon forgotten. Consider this , my take on a 85 year old man.
He rocks alone. Daily. It is all he can do. He lives alone in his house of 48 years with his memories. His wife of 45 years passing away two years ago due to natural causes.
It was her he loved. His life love and his one great passion. (and weakness) To say he loved her heart as he loved her being wold be untrue- as he loved them both differently. But, as one, he loved her completely.
And so he sits. Whittling on a piece of wood that he started before she died. It was to be for her. And somehow, now, finishing it, would seem to offer more closure that what he wished and opined for. And so it was a haphazard effort that never really got anywhere. But out of love (and in truth, habit) he whittled. Alone, in his thoughts of her and their life together.
It was at those times that he would smile. Not a ear to ear one, those left long ago, but one of the heart, as the heart loves to smile. As well as the secret smiles that would occasionally escape onto his lips. The ones that confused and confounded others that may see it. But that was fine as, in time, we will all have secret smiles.
He would think back to how she smelled. Her perfume. A Chanel perfume and another she discovered years later. She applied them at the perfect places. Behind the ears, in the nape of her neck, her wrists and in her bosom. How he loved to discover where her scent was coming from.
He loved the touch of her hand in his. His worn from many years of hard work, hers , soft and delicate , like fine crystal. he loved HOW her hands felt on him. In a hug, a sad embrace, a pat on the back and many other ways left the devices of those two.
He remembered her coking and needlework. Both were passions to her. And won her many awards and acclaims. he missed that now. Eating form a can- or an random meal a neighbor may bring by was not the same. It lacked the love and care she put into it.
At 85, any sex life had long gone. For both . That pleasure of the flesh was but a distant memory. If one at all. BUT--how she made him feel. How she was, just not how she was to HIM, but to all she knew. And the special things they did and shred. That was intimacy to him.
AH! He could dwell on that for hours. Remembering the double kiss on the his left cheek and the one on his forehead as he got back , daily from the mines, that was a secret smile. As was how she took his hand and led him to the rocker- which had room enough for two. One side that now sat deserted and void of the soul that should be there. Looking that way, at times, caused a tear to flow.
What he would not give to have her back and to have all of that all over again-just once.
How he would love to finish his carving and give to one that owned his heart.
Fin
(This brought a tear to MY eye)
It can be as simple as holding hands at twilight or along a walk along a beach in the sand, barefoot.
Two sitting together in a love seat and sharing a Coke- one straw- and watching a movie. With the living room lights dimmed.
Intimacy is what the heart remembers and what gets emboldened to the soul. Sex may be important- but it is soon forgotten. Consider this , my take on a 85 year old man.
He rocks alone. Daily. It is all he can do. He lives alone in his house of 48 years with his memories. His wife of 45 years passing away two years ago due to natural causes.
It was her he loved. His life love and his one great passion. (and weakness) To say he loved her heart as he loved her being wold be untrue- as he loved them both differently. But, as one, he loved her completely.
And so he sits. Whittling on a piece of wood that he started before she died. It was to be for her. And somehow, now, finishing it, would seem to offer more closure that what he wished and opined for. And so it was a haphazard effort that never really got anywhere. But out of love (and in truth, habit) he whittled. Alone, in his thoughts of her and their life together.
It was at those times that he would smile. Not a ear to ear one, those left long ago, but one of the heart, as the heart loves to smile. As well as the secret smiles that would occasionally escape onto his lips. The ones that confused and confounded others that may see it. But that was fine as, in time, we will all have secret smiles.
He would think back to how she smelled. Her perfume. A Chanel perfume and another she discovered years later. She applied them at the perfect places. Behind the ears, in the nape of her neck, her wrists and in her bosom. How he loved to discover where her scent was coming from.
He loved the touch of her hand in his. His worn from many years of hard work, hers , soft and delicate , like fine crystal. he loved HOW her hands felt on him. In a hug, a sad embrace, a pat on the back and many other ways left the devices of those two.
He remembered her coking and needlework. Both were passions to her. And won her many awards and acclaims. he missed that now. Eating form a can- or an random meal a neighbor may bring by was not the same. It lacked the love and care she put into it.
At 85, any sex life had long gone. For both . That pleasure of the flesh was but a distant memory. If one at all. BUT--how she made him feel. How she was, just not how she was to HIM, but to all she knew. And the special things they did and shred. That was intimacy to him.
AH! He could dwell on that for hours. Remembering the double kiss on the his left cheek and the one on his forehead as he got back , daily from the mines, that was a secret smile. As was how she took his hand and led him to the rocker- which had room enough for two. One side that now sat deserted and void of the soul that should be there. Looking that way, at times, caused a tear to flow.
What he would not give to have her back and to have all of that all over again-just once.
How he would love to finish his carving and give to one that owned his heart.
Fin
(This brought a tear to MY eye)
SweetKiester · 46-50, F
@SweetKiester: Thank You very much. I have wrote of this before in a much shortened version. But never with as much detail as I did last night. And never with the fervor I wrote into my tale.
I am quite honored, and flattered, that my little foray into the heart of one much older than I touched you as it did.
That, anyway, is what my take is on what real intimacy is.
And that....is the intimacy that makes my heart beat faster.
I am quite honored, and flattered, that my little foray into the heart of one much older than I touched you as it did.
That, anyway, is what my take is on what real intimacy is.
And that....is the intimacy that makes my heart beat faster.
Ambroseguy80 · 56-60, M
DarthMalia · 26-30, F
sighmeupforthat · 46-50, M
Ambroseguy80 · 56-60, M
You're just too medically knowledgeable for your own good sometimes. 👍🏻
sighmeupforthat · 46-50, M
@Ambroseguy80: well, you make the 12th person who's said that here.. time for a tomato! (i promised... i must uphold that! ;) :D
no joke.
🍅
no joke.
🍅
ChampagneOnIce · 51-55, F
Hearing "I love you" from the one I love; exercising in all it's forms; driving fast (I love that); anticipating a vacation (the excitement of it); adventures and new experiences that make me smile, laugh, or feed my soul; writing something very personal that's weaved in a well-written story.
sighmeupforthat · 46-50, M
ReaperofTime · 46-50, M
SweetKiester · 46-50, F
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