Distraction
I’ve been reading this book by Catherynne M. Valente, The Habitation of the Blessed: A Dirge for Prester John, Volume One. It’s good, and I’ll write a review after I finish, but one quote caught my attention…
“Distraction is the enemy of perfection.”
I will never be remotely close to perfection, it seems. I’m drowning in distraction, and melancholy, and…
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Like lightning
She leans over and kisses you, and it’s like lightning. You close your eyes and fall into her, or she falls into you, or maybe you’re falling into each other. You close your eyes, her lips touching yours, and the world doesn’t go black, you’re not wrapped in darkness. You’re wrapped in light, white blinding light, complete, and radiant, and so right now. You’re enveloped in this radiance, totally fucking lost in it. Her lips wrap around yours, yours wrap around hers, and with every touch the light gets hotter, even more total. Your lips brush her cheek, her neck, she grabs at your hair, pulls harder with every kiss.
Electricity flies through her and into you, burning away all the fear and loneliness that’s been enfolded around your heart for so very long. Every nerve in your body is alive and screaming. The current from her touch runs down your spine to the tips of your toes, and for this series of perfect moments you know what it’s like to feel truly happy, truly in love.
You’ll fall asleep holding her close, dazed from feeling what it’s like to be struck by lightning
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