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Some call mine The Weaker Sex. Fools. Clearly they don’t know the power we yield from down on our knees. Looking up, you see it all. Drink it in. The strong chest, open arms, eyes pleading with need even when they cannot (or will not) say the words. There is no greater rush.
Song of Myselfie
In a recent interview with Andy Cohen, the host asked Sam what his choice of superpower would be. Sam went for it. “To see people naked, I guess?” Andy replied with “I think you already have that power, Sam.”
Those of you who fiercely protect Sam’s reputation by condemning the Scottish Porn comments can’t tell me that you don’t zoom in and pause at the hundreds of stunning photos and gifs, wondering how far below the treasure line we will get to go.
Stop hiding it. Stop suppressing it. Stop denying it, and yourself.
He is beautiful. He is powerful. He is Puckishly full of life. Sam is unabashed in his love of physicality… in all meanings of the word.
Be like Sam.
I think Walt Whitman captures him best:
Has any one supposed it lucky to be born?
I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know it.
I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash'd babe, and am not contain'd between my hat and boots,
And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and every one good,
The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good.
I am not an earth nor an adjunct of an earth,
I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and fathomless as myself,
(They do not know how immortal, but I know.)
Every kind for itself and its own, for me mine male and female,
For me those that have been boys and that love women,
For me the man that is proud and feels how it stings to be slighted,
For me the sweet-heart and the old maid, for me mothers and the mothers of mothers,
For me lips that have smiled, eyes that have shed tears,
For me children and the begetters of children.
Undrape! you are not guilty to me, nor stale nor discarded,
I see through the broadcloth and gingham whether or no,
And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be shaken away.
Day 7, Claire Randall Fraser, Outlander: Diana Gabaldon
1 year ago we touched lips for the first time in a dark room as people were sleeping and other were drinking and others were wondering whether it's right to stay alive or they're allowed to give up 12 months ago we spent a day holding hands for the first time, meeting our voiced for the first time, seeing our eyes for the first time. It was just not that much a day for many other people, but for us? For us it was the first day of all 52,28 weeks ago I was waiting for a train while you were waiting on a train and my friends were way too stoned on the platform next to me but maybe I was the one feeling higher 366 days ago, I thought that I could have died on the spot for how happy I felt, I thought that maybe the guarantee of my heart hadn't expired yet About 8.784 we sat in a kitchen and we read and we laughed. And then we only listened to our harts beating fast and then faster. And got so scared we could break each other that we'd have hidden under a crystal bell. More or less 527.040 minutes ago, our minds were spinning like crazy, our stomachs felt like they were being squeezed and turned and tossed around. Around 31.622.400 I understood I wanted more moments with you, like the whole day we spent together. I understood that maybe you wanted the same thing. And the clock never stops No, the clock never stops We get angry, we get happy, we laugh and we argue, and it's 3 a.m. in the morning and I'm scared and excited and I don't really know what I'm writing. This is not going to be beautiful or refined, because I am not beautiful nor refined. But I'm every inch as happy and every inch has content to have you on my side. Now it's 23 days till we meet again, till I can kiss your lips for the first time again, till I can spend a day holding your hand again. 23 days that I'm counting down like they're never ending, because I miss you. I miss your voice, your smile, your little laugh, the way you look at me like I might be the one. I miss your hands that I like to kiss so much, I miss them tangled in my hair. I miss the pictures we always take that we either find stunning or hideous, I miss the way you're always right, and how I let you win sometimes just to see you content, I miss the way you look when you wake up in the morning, always more awake than I am. I miss the way you like to surprise me, the way your body fits against mine when we're hugging, the look in your eyes when we find a bookstore. But most of all, I miss you, every part of you, every flaw and every virtue, because I wouldn't change you for the world. Even with my insecurities, even if I try not to show when I'm hurt, even if I'm a defected girl that always try to cheer people up but cries herself to sleep every night. I hope you like my defected self as well, because you're kind of stuck. You're my summer sun in wintertime, never forget this. With affection, Your soleil P.s. This is really written at 3.00 AM because I can't sleep so I kind of wrote my heart down. I hope it's not so full of errors to be ugly, maybe I'll edit it in the following days to make it at least grammatically correct, or maybe I won't. I just wanted you to read inside my stream of consciousness. Goodnight, darling.
It has been officially a month. Or almost four, if you prefer. I would say is even more than that, something that almost touches the “Six months goal.” But in the end, some could say it has been a few days more than a week. Truth is: time, like age, marks and kilometres, is just a number like any other when it comes to heart issues. What one, three, six months or a handful of days in your company meant, held the meaning of a lifetime. We already saw each other fall silently, as we witnessed each other finding the strenght to keep on fighting like the two stubborn people we are. We watched each other for hours, days even. We touched each other minds and bodies, we fell asleep holding hands like they do in those silly stories I never like. But this is different, this is your story, and mine. And we are writing it together, against all the odds. That night, when I was holding you, and caressing your shoulder, you asked me something. I can remember exactly how blessed I was feeling, having the privilege to have you around, to caress you skin with mine. In that moment, I was praying for time to stop, for the world to end, for my life to finish in that exact moment of bliss. And you asked me whether we had just made love. I wanted to laugh, I wanted to kiss you again and forever, I wanted to cry. I tried to explain, with my uneasy words and my shaking voice, that we were somehow making love since our eyes first met, that it could have been nothing other than that. I wonder if I ever gave you the feeling it was not the truth, if I did, that’s my mortal sin, and I will never be able to explain to you the entity of my sorrow. please tell me if that was the case, and know it was not - it was never - intended.
I wish you to know, that even if I’m a mess, and I forget about dates and names, or where my things are, I never forget to think of you. And today as well, with my best friend around, and my mother always watching my every step, I couldn’t stop thinking of you, when I noticed how the sun was shining beautifully in the sky, or how my small little garden is filling up with daisies. I couldn’t stop thinkin of you while having my vaccine, or while having to stand all the relatives that came to say hi like I have been to war and not in an university trying to build my future up. I couldn’t stop thinking of you while turning the pages of the book about the Windsor dinasty, reading Victoria’s name over and over. I could not stop thinking of you, and I so wanted to screw everything and everybody, and get the first available train without giving an explanation, so that I could call you and ask you to come and get me at the station, I know there will be a day I will be able to do just that, to come running to you without having to plan, or to give any valid reason to anyone.
Sometimes I am afraid I am caging you. Like you’re an angel, and I’m a rock, continuously keeping you down with me. Like I’m sucking up all your freedom, forcing you to an endless journey of little times of joy and long extenuant waits. Some days, I can’t stand the guilt, and I wonder if I should just free you. Because for how hard I try, I am a very flawed person, with little self esteem, and the tendency to overthink, and you ar a flower I am afraid I could ruin in a jesture. But then, I am selfish, and I tell myself that you are the one who makes me the happiest person I have ever been. You are the one that always brings a ray of sunshine in my life, the one I never saw coming, but I’m so glad you did. I do believe you will eventually tire of me, that I will eventually fuck up one time for all, and you will be so right in telling me to fuck off. I am also afraid that is the day I will crumble completely. But for now, I am content with you just existing in my life, and I sometimes manage to make you happy, this is the only thing I really do care for. Heaven can crush down, if at least I made you happy half of the times you made me happy. I don’t really know what the point was in all of this, if this is an apology, or just a rantle, and you will never know how many times, in writing this, I wanted to erase every single word for either embarassment, or guilt, or sadness or rage or joy. You didn’t tell me you were coming with a thunder of feelings when I met you, and I thank you for this. And even now, that you’re far, even now that I miss your voice terribly, I do feel like in that moment. Like I’m surrounded by you, and I can not stop making love to you, like I do not even exist, if you don’t. And this is so stupid to say, and you will probably hate me for this, sweet friend. You would be right, in hating me. I hate myself too most of the time. But your exitance made mine bearable. I promise you, my darling, that one day I will find the right words to say all of this in a more clear way. It’s just probably not tonight. Goodnight, my sweet Rose,
It’s your birthday, so I guess it’s time for you to read this. I did not checked it, and I always wanted to give it a better ending, but nothing good came to my mind, not I wanted to change what I wrote, because it’s true, and rushed, and it went with the rollercoaster of emotions I was dealing with. So here you have it, sorry if it’s not as poetic as the other, but I’m not used to write my feelings down so purely. Happy birtdyay, mo duinne. You’re finally just as old as me.
I could tell, not just you but to everybody, how it felt to guide you to my house, how excited I was for you to see this small place I live in, how scared I was. You could dislike it, you could hate this room, I don't even know why I care so much that you liked this place. Maybe I was afraid you could dislike me as well, if you disliked the house, because houses tell a lot about who lives in them. But darling, was it magical to spend time here, with you? It felt like it was an everyday thing. It felt like the possibility of waking up, every morning with you by my side. Sharing a flat, whichever flat, even this one, with you was becoming a stunning and true possibility. Making tea and drinking it together, was a moment stolen by our possible future daily routine. I wonder how it would be to share an actual daily routine with you, to see you smile every day, to make you tea every day. And while Alex was there, with your weight upon my knees, I felt I could change the world with a blink of an eye if you only asked me to. I wanted to be able to feel your body that close all my life long. I wish you never got up, I wish we were stilled in that moment, when you were paying attention and I just stared in awe, surrounded by perfection. I didn't understand a thing, of course, nor I cared to, I was just enjoying your company, and nothing more. And when you gave me the necklace, this necklace we started kissing every night as a ritual, now that you're far away again, when I saw the sun and the moon, I allowed myself to ask, if our relationship was more, more than what we believe it to be. If there could be a future together, a future that even now scares the hell out of me. What are we gonna be? It's our turn to discover. And I confess, I am curious and scared and excited all at once, my dear. I could tel you of when the night came, and suddenly we were dancing and running down the street, with those songs we almost know by memory. Maybe it was just an excuse to hold your hand, to feel your breath close to mine, to feel your heartbeat, like I did just a couple of nights before. And without realising, I understood all that bullshit about feeling infinite, about holding galaxies in our chest. I did not think, darling, of anything else, not even if my leg hurt, of if I was struggling to catch my breath, I felt like nothing could touch me. You often make me feel like that, like I could be immortal. And I also felt once more like when I was 14, and didn't know what was going on, I was scared to even make a step. I've been scared all my life, and still pretended to be fearless. With you, I understood what being both altogether is like. Because I never wanted that music to end. That's another memory I framed and will always keep with myself. There will be memories we will eventually erase, memories we will lose touch with. Not this one. I swear I will remember it clearly in three months, or six, or in a year. I won't allow myself to forget what it meant to be in a cliche movie. I won't allow myself to dismiss the feeling of the universe moving with us. Because we were a part of it, and we shared its beauty and its perfection. I won't forget what it meant to be fourteen, fifteen years old again for a night. When we got to the hotel, we spent some time on the bed, with your mother and your brother. We spoke of many things. I tried not to be as scared as I am, I wanted to act cool. I knew I was about to say goodbye, and it was tearing my heart apart. I didn't want to say goodbye, I didn't want to go home one last time, to kiss your lips one last time. However, I had to. Unfortunately I don't remember much of what we said, too many days have passed already, before I've had the courage to write this down and admit I am afraid to never see you again. To screw it up one more time. To hurt you too severely just in order to selfishly defend myself from harm. I don't want this to happen. I don't want to push you away, nor I did want it, not for a second, that night. That's why I kissed your hand before leaving, on the door. I clang to you, I was begging you to stay, or to let me stay over for the night. We shared a kiss before that, but in kissing your hand I was asking for your forgiveness, I was forcing myself to say goodbye. I believed we could wake up the next day, and discover it was over, nothing more than a dream, nothing more than a drunk's rambling. What if everything changed, that night? I really did believe it was the last chance I had to make you understand. And I tried, with that gesture, pressing my lips against your palm like it was water and I was thirsty, I tried to tell you I need you. Something I haven't told and meant for such a long time. I need you, mo duinne, I need you more than I am, even now, willing to admit. Because you make me believe I'm worth fighting for, you make me believe that this life is worth fighting for. I was not ready to let you go, and I'm not. And I won't be ready tomorrow, nor the day after that. I wonder if you understood even just a glimpse of that, I hope I managed to let you see. I forced myself to leave, but couldn't avoid to turn around, and see you at the window. You waved at me, or at least that's what I remember. I waved back, and I was in tears, hoping you would not notice. Coming home, I held my necklace all the time, and for the first time, the first of many, I kissed it goodnight. I fell asleep holding it tight, like if I was holding your small body in my arms. I thought of what we went trough, those crazy days, and I felt so blessed to have had the chance of living them with you. I could have died that night, never wake up again, and I would have died like the most happy girl in the world, in the whole universe even. Because I, we, lived a dream, and most of the time I was not that able to distinguish reality from imagination. For how many nights I spent (and still spend) in your company, I was allowed a few days in your physical presence, and never I do remember to have been this genuinely happy. Thank you, my Lady, thank you my fair Rose. Thank you for gifting me your time, and those days I will always keep close and dear to my heart. But mostly, thank you, for making me feel again like a girl, and nothing more than a girl, because it is the most beautiful gift you could ever have given me in a million years time.
I can call you after the exam if you want and you feel like it. Or you can call me, I won't answer if I'm in class. You know I'm here if you need me to.
Ok so, I told I really wrote a damn lot about monday, and I did, but maybe I am still not ready to show it all to you yet. Just take this as a starter, as a payback, as wathever you like. And know this was written in days, weeks. The few words I may have changed were grammatical horrors.
“And here we are at last, talking about Monday. There are so many things to be said about this day, I barely know where to start. I could start from the beginning, from the slow and cheerful breakfast we had at Filter. From the way I could get my eyes off of you because I just started to realise you were there for real, and it was not just a dream I would eventually wake up from. I could start from the way I noticed you didn't put all that lipstick on, or the way I did the exact same thing, maybe giving each other hope, or something. I could tell you about how it felt to joke around about people in the square, wondering if some of them caught us in their picture, asking to ourselves how many turists would find our faces as a background when downloading their pictures in their computer. Will they think we are no more than one of the many couples of lovebirds you can see twittering around all the time? Will they understand from our eyes all the silences we shared, all the unspoken words, every thought, each doubt? Will they notice it all, while looking at two girls holding hands in the background, being so close they almost stumble on each other's feet? I wonder so much about those people, those who will forever keep a splinter of one of the most beautiful days in my life without realizing they do. About the one who probably won't even notice us, that stilled our life in pictures. What were you doing in those photos? Were you laughing? Were you in awe at the sight of those beautiful buildings? Were you whispering something for my ears only? How much would I give to know every detail, to collect them all and store them in my heart. I never want to forget. Please give me the strenght to remember every detail for all of my life. Do not allow me to forget a single smile, a single heartbeat. Do not allow me to let go of this. I could tell you about how happy I was in seeing you all excited about the grave of Fibonacci, and everything we saw in that graveyard. I really didn't care that much, you know? I had you by my side and it was the best gift. The only art I needed was right there. I could tell you how sorry I am I couldn't stop wandering in the Cathedral, because I am the worst when it comes to churches, and I could try to amend, saying none of the statues in the structure could equal your beauty to my eyes. Not a single painting in the room, not a single flash of gold could ever get close to the fullness I was feeling inside my chest. The prayer that can express the holyness I felt in my soul, has yet to be invented, and I really doubt any priest would ever be capable of such a thing. And all of this, because you were there. It's just as simple as that.”
