The Divinyls Were Wrong

When I think about you... I imagine you touching me.

The only thing that I currently miss about having a significant other is that exhilaration I get from being touched by them. I miss standing in line to buy tickets to a movie and having someone's hand on the small of my back, their face sniffing at the top of my head.

I miss holding hands with that person when we're sitting in the theater. I won't even get into how much I miss renting a movie, going home and snuggling against that person while we watch that DVD.

I miss those passing-by kisses on the side of my neck, the top of my head, my cheek, brushing my lips. I miss having someone to lace my fingers through their fingers with. I miss having an inner arm to trace with my fingertips. I miss having a warm, scruffy neck to burrow my head into. I miss a warm bed shared after even warmer sex, two naked bodies lined up next to each other, shoulders touching shoulders, hips toughing hips, skin connected at every point.

I miss all of this. And then I remember...

I only crave this kind of touching in the beginning of a relationship. After the novelty has worn away, many of these things are lost on me. I start to crave my space again, to want to retire to my side of the bed after the deed is done. I love to be touched, perhaps as a sign of bonding, but once that bond has been developed, I want to return to a sense of normalcy again.

I only miss these things when I don't have them. But I do miss them so intensely, so insanely, that I will make extremely impulsive decisions to get them again. I will sleep with people that I have no emotional connection with in order to taste that novelty again. I will make something out of nothing if the person is a hand-holder and it's been some time since my hand was anywhere other than my jeans pocket. So I need to constantly remind myself not to go chasing after those moments.

I've been trying to grow out of some of the behaviours that I developed over the years. The impulsiveness, the not caring where I get it from or what the consequences might be as long as I satified my need for gratification. Fucking christ, it's lonely though. Maturity is a bitch. I'm not sure if I want to strive for it anymore.

I just want my hooker, dammit! Or fuck... the first person who is willing to come and smell my clean hair gets some!

Just remember to go home when we're done. Girl needs her space.