the nook

the nook - n. A small corner, alcove, or recess, especially one in a large room. A hidden or secluded spot.

This morning I had a thought - she's sleeping in the same bed as every man I have ever loved! Then I giggled. She was sound asleep and I got up to go to the toilet. Some toothpaste and a drop of eye-cream later I touched my face with my hands. I felt my eyes, my wrinkles and my eyebrows - there's that hair sticking out again. Then I closed my eyes to think. I thought of the nook. The nook is that small, comfortable place between a man's chest and his belly. The enclosed and secure cave of solitude and complete safety that's created by some chest hair and the warm breath of a man. I used to be in the nook. I used to be secure in the nook, breathing comfortably, taking in his scent - a mixture of summer nights' sweat and refreshing deodorant sprinkled with some skin smell. His own!

To put everything in order, I had to retrace my thoughts. Almost like tracing a criminal's steps. I seem to have grown some nose hair. I pluck them out and consider going back to bed to think strategically about my morning early thoughts. Instead the smell of the morning dew draws me to the balcony - it rained last night, everything glistens with droplets of hydrating pearls, the smell of mint travels up the nostrils and suggests a beautiful morning of thoughts. The spoon swirls around my coffee cup and I fall in a pensive state. Reminiscing the times when I used to curl up like a sparrow, the warm feathers of his companion would offer warmth and comfort, I sipped my coffee and allowed the hot liquid to burn my tongue. It was almost pleasurable, my mum shakes her head when I do that. Immediately I traveled to his arms. Any mans' arms. A difficult concept to grasp by most today, a body seeks comfort, it requires to be taken into the deep blue waters of the ocean and left to levitate in serenity. Once there was the professor - his arms were hairy, his breath warm, with a distinct smell of mint. Clear white teeth and an extremity of a smile. His nook was comfortable - warm, security was a standard. Sometimes our bellies would touch and he would tickle me - an after game with increased sensuality and improving care. Then there was the wine maker, more in touch with the earth - his hands roughened by the soil, the earth was his mother and I was the seed of this growing oak tree. A strong yet tender nook - more stable and far more secure than the previous one, it offered me endless evenings of happiness. The way I curled up - I shoved myself forcefully into the nook, safely tucked away into a nest of clouds. La vie en nook... I sought the end of the rainbow and found it in his arms. His chest was hairless, soft and smooth - like the rest of his body. I sensed aromas of cinammon, some aftershave and black vanilla from a well known department store. Those were the nooks...

My mum got up a little while later. I made some coffee for her - I love making her coffee as it springs a smile on her face thats worth a million dollars. I wish i could tell her about the nook - the security it offered me and the emotions that fly around in my head this morning. Her coffee isnt sweet enough - she complains. She always loved her coffee sweet. I always loved my nook warm and secure. What would it be like to tell her about the nook? Has she ever felt the warmth of the nook herself? Would she understand my need for the nook?

I seek the nook. I seek the chest that pumps heartbeats into mine. A pillow stuffed with feathers of a duck, perhaps a pillow of clouds that flow about like the scarf of a fairy. Its great to have your own nook - its almost like a house. I wish there was a bank thats handing out loans to get your own nook. Or perhaps if you had 100 McMeals you could get your own free McNook.

My mint has risen from the soil, its evolved from seeds to plant and it smells nice. Thats what love can do. Summertime in love. We agreed on making some pasta with pesto sauce today. I'll get the tablecloth.

self and defence

do we need to defend our self to fend for ourselves? must we learn to keep ourselves protected to protect others from it? does the real danger in hurting oneself, lie in oneself entirely or do we need to maintain "distance" to go a "long way"?!

last night i had another encounter with the x-files. to some, it might just be a tv series, to others its much more than that - and its that plentiful of circumstancial "more" that brings me to a halt this morning. i just had a thought - why does it rain when i'm happy? or is it, "...i'm only happy when it rains?..." sounds from the past and notes for the future.

the coffee machine whistled away and the scent of a man lingered in the room. a man who got up this morning feeling rather blue, made coffee, put on his sunday best and walked to work with determination and a few bags. there's dust on the shelf so i take the duster in my hand and start to neurotically spread it around - are thoughts like dust? do we scatter it around temporarily and then when it piles up again, do we use a duster to make it alright again?! i have no wine, there's some nuts in a small jar up on the shelf. i should run to get some strawberries - perhaps gets some dessert too from the delicatessen downstairs. milles feuilles was your favourite - is still for all i know. a thousand layers - layers of the skin, the dermis, the epidermis etc etc... layers of the heart, unfolding, enclosing, hiding, protecting.

the door bell rings and you enter. once again i let you in my house, in my space.com and you invade with unerving ease. it almost irritates me that i let myself down once more. i wonder, is there a chance for a reunion? your hands seem dry again, perhaps you have been neglecting them, perhaps you have been neglected. you chain smoke, you seem agitated and that keeps me alert. the weather has never been discussed so much and i jump into the conversation with hunger - i pose questions, i suggest scenarios that would open up a whole new world. you seem to be lost, feeling guilty and empty but your face suggests nothing but defense. the phone rings, you watch tv, just like we used to do on a weekday. i take the call, almost in need of the sound of another voice. i think of what you said, i hear the calles voice and i watch tv like a hawk. i am dispersed in thoughts and thoughts are dispersed like dust. i forgot to clean the bathroom - i should have cleaned the bathroom. in a twist of irony (i still believe, someone up theres is laughing with me) you get up and move to the bathroom. i should have cleaned the bath tub. you take your jacket into the bedroom - just like we did then.

in a swift change of time, a sudden cold turn of clockworks i am back in the zone - the safety zone that you offered me. you would rise and hug me every morning, you'd call me about 200 times during the day, we would talk about the weekend and improvise on some everyday aspects. at night i would usually cook and you'd bring the wine. your jacket would hang on the door knob and you'd always take your shoes off, out on the balcony. you had a thing about the balcony - the terrace as you'd all it. in just seconds my world was turned and i was forced to leap in faith. with or without you. alone. together.

things are not what they seem. i let myself back into the hurt zone. do we ever learn? does a string of unfortunate events make us better people or just hurt people? when do we learn to keep ourselves sheltered from the menace? its like snow-white and cinderella? are they still trapped in the same fairytale or have they learned from their mistakes and managed to get out of it? have they abandoned the idea of a prince charming and have they taken a job? do they have anonymous casual sex and do they have a social security number?!

security is everything. safety. sensibility. insecurity is horror. self and others - where does the defining line begin? when do we become safe? when we rescue our self or when we allow others to save us?