I find myself tightly confined by the lingering thoughts, the residue of yesterday and the day before. It was just so nice to have a hug and sit with an attractive man. Emotional words pop right out of my mouth, when I think of men especially when they are in front of me. Yes, men are flatter and their levels of testosterone rise with me. I then talked about age because I get shy about the male female attention, I get down. I said I was older than him. Oh that is what I do bring up my age when I am feeling threatened by a man! If a woman threatens me I minimize myself and flatter them. There is a genuine bit of myself that remains a little girl who is out in the world entertaining without an ability to filter my words. Digressions in my excitement become fun and expressing myself abound, forgetting where I am. All that matters is I have a captive audiance.
As the hug began I could smell menthol or some medicinal smell. Not cologne and then I kissed his cheek in one of my Hollywood moments and I felt his beard. I stepped back and reacted to his wool tweed jacket. I have probably only given him a kiss twice on the cheek. I have been left with a poetic response to my past traumas as my body remembers. This time I kissed him again and I was left with a deep breath of sadness. My desperation and remembrance of an old man too near me. I knew that he is not old and while these feelings are there, they are not about him, they are about a deep memory of some old man with a similar jacket and smell and my little girl wants to cry, my trauma wants release and I awaken. All this after I asked why over and over again in my mind. While I keep saying to myself this feels the same; yet it is not the same, I felt violated when I hadn’t been. The mix of feelings that come pouring out of me, as I move through my life working at accepting who I am. He is a very attractive male who I can get confused about. This is the truth, I am the little girl running around the rifle range and then there is the vision of my grandfather’s exposure: a violation of a 6 year old. How to release this I don’t know. Life has offered me the kindling of the charred spirit the ghost of the little girl lost.
