How is it that my affection - once so arduous and consuming - has completely dissipated in one night? I had been waiting to see him for three weeks. Three tortuous weeks in which I've spent experiencing a myriad of emotions: sadness, hopelessness, and grief. I have been harrowed by the thought of him; of his bronze skin, his lovely laugh, and tender touch. I had so much anticipation for our next clandestine meeting.
When I finally saw him, he had looked the same as before. No incandescent mandorla encircled him. Nothing about him indicated the brilliant radiance I had imagined exuding from his skin in my dreams. It simply wasn't there. And once we had performed our duties, we parted ways and I was left feeling strangely whole and enlightened. As I watched the eerie darkness swallow his silhouette, I realized he meant nothing to me. Nothing at all.
Three weeks I was convinced that I was hopelessly infatuated with him. And suddenly the tears, the fear of losing him, the salacity, and passionate affection deliquesced in a mere hour, almost as if it never existed.
(Also, here is my most recent shoot with the lovely Joy.)