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By darwin Date: 2006 Nov 27 Comment on this Work [[2006.11.27.19.07.846]] |
| i wonder what the truth about satisfaction is. where our true happiness comes from, or for lack of another term, lies. where has it found a home? some say that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. that food possesses some mystical properties to create love. mashed potatoes with gravy with incite a man to spew love poetry to the one with a serving spoon. if only it was that simple. that we meet, connect, fall in love and live happily ever after. sometimes we would rather gloss over the complications that arise, or the desires that change with the years and seasons. with winter, the desire to cocoon ourselves in sweaters and arms at night. hearthfires blazing bright against the warring cold just beyond the doors. but change they do, and sometimes without expectation. they may recall something simple from a phrase, a look, a touch, but our bodies and minds recall infintismal minutia that change our lives. one day his kiss is enough, the next, the call of a distant country and the desire to help a nation from poverty and hunger. but is it satisfying. love. does it fill you in the moments when you feel there is nothing left? or does it cause you to be deeply content as nothing else ever does. perhaps it curbs that wanderlust that you have been fighting for an eternity, the eye that seeks. i think i have found the satisfaction in knowing that none of the above makes a damn bit of difference. if i were to wander, he would wander with me. if i wanted to find another continent he would build a boat to take me. he would fight me if it meant my happiness. but it changes, and he changes, and i change, we all change. but with change comes acceptance of things as they change as well. that hearts grow and expand, as much as the world contracts around us. our ignorance does us no good the older we get. it doesn't solve the mathematical equations that plague life. it isn't pi. but it does solve the feeling of being incomplete. he's the adam to my eve. the egg to my womb. the distance to my measure. he's my satisfaction. |