Cold


It's really crazy, this weather. With the added caveat that I spend a lot of time in bed reading and eating chocolate. I also have more time to think (have that bad habit of just go of some weird trains of thought most of the times between book chapters) and Nando has been coming to my mind.
I think it has to do with the paper we need to write together. But also because the novel I'm reading (Full Circle, by Michael Thomas Ford) is written like a memoir and I usually take to thinking about my own life when I read this stuff. Funny, how clear the taste of his skin is in my mind. How I can remember the time he told me that he felt he was almost flying when he made love to me. How incredibly pleasurable was having him inside of me. How I have never ever since come simultaneously with a lover.
I know it may be my penchant for lionizing that time of my life. Or maybe just my usual frustration and Bovarism. Or the pictures I keep finding in MOCblog. But it's good sometimes to be able to think that I felt that. Which means there's still the potential. No?

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