When faced with a world that can be cold and harsh, we all long for a warm protective embrace of another, regardless of gender.
It’s
been a long day, a long week. I have not been my best self lately —
with my students, my colleagues, and even myself. The inner critic’s
voice seems to be turned to full volume. Looking in the mirror most
mornings I am only capable of seeing the imperfections and scars. I am
feeling my age as of late. The wrinkles on my face seem deeper, the gray
hair more pronounced and out of control. New growths seem to be popping
up on my skin, rough patches—barnacles—acquired from many years at
life’s turbulent sea. I feel unattractive, undesirable, and to a certain
extent, unloveable.
I am standing at the kitchen sink now running a scouring sponge for
the fiftieth time across a grease encrusted pan. The soapy water stings
my dry chapped hands. I stare blankly out the kitchen window at the
landscape, parched of color and detail. The wind sweeps up drifts of
snow and scatters flakes in front of my view. They fail to sparkle in
the dim gray light. As the snowflakes drift from sight I let out an
audible sigh. Though the temperature inside is a comfortable warmth, the
chilling wind outside seems to have penetrated through the walls and
glass, anchoring itself deep in my bones and joints. I am no longer the
idealistic, charismatic, adventurous, sensual person I used to be . . .
at least not today.
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I first notice the scent of him, soap and deodorant and shampoo. It’s a scent I know now in my DNA.
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