The ocean, he said, is boring, always the same photographs always the same feeling.
Making love, he said, is always the same, mechanical, repetitive predictable.
I thought he had only watched postcards of sandy beaches and endure bad lovers. But then I realized all joy is coming from yourself and experience become what you are ready to put into.
I guess sometimes it is similar though, like he said.
I wish we could all easily find comfort in this secure pattern when all is twisted, the paths are crossed and the messages obscure. After all, some couples are holding on to this bit of flesh in their torments and some lost souls are reaching for this bit of inertia in the rhythm of the waves to soothe their open wounds.
I get lost in time and details, I gets lost in peaceful harmony. Whether it is from the tip of a finger on my skin or from a grain of sand on the shore, I don’t stop discovering, tasting and being permeable to all sensations even if it means the nasty ones slam me hard and often.
I never had the same love twice even from the same person.
I am not a creature of habits and relish surprises, but I know love or the ocean will always have something different for me each time.