the most beautiful thing: tug tug

There is a man standing on the periphery of my life. He swooped in unexpectedly one night during a chance meeting. The pull was tremendous but he is not to be enjoyed in the way the pull would have us enjoy him, now was is? Oh, no! Mercy-me, no! So, I enjoyed the little tug and carried myself home sans said formerly-periphery-standing man just like the wholesome, sweet small-town girl I am. (No snickering, please.) 

Well, this time I stepped out of his periphery and (innocently, mind you) into his central sphere for just a wee-minute thinking the tug was a tug of back then, situational, fleeting. And there he was. Tug. Tug. Tug-TUG. Yowzer.

But after venturing in, I am happy to report that I, once again, carried myself out and home alone, simply enjoying the tug of… well, holy (make that unholy) burning desire, to be frank! May all sentient beings be so fucking lucky as to escape the jaws of death and destruction as smoothly as I did earlier today! Oh, what a life. What a fun, funny, beautiful life. Tug. Tug. Gulp. Goooooo team virtue! Double-gulp.

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~ by HeatherArtLife on October 20, 2008.

One Response to “the most beautiful thing: tug tug”

  1. I know this feeling all too well. My trouble is that I am probably imagining all my others’ tugs. But MY tug towards these women are very real.

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