Casual sex is a lot like an amateur college jazz ensemble.
You may or may not hit the right notes, but that hardly matters.
Everything is too stiff, too rehearsed, too formal.
That easy looseness,
That passion,
That synchronicity,
That pseudo spiritual euphoria just isn't there.
Everything sounds right, but there is something lacking.
Something you may not even be aware of,
until you get home
and cue up John Coltrane
and listen to him play Ruby, My Dear
the way it was actually meant to be played.
That's when you realize that some things might be worth waiting for after all.
7:52 p.m. - 2014-11-11
Recent entries:
A brief distraction - 2014-12-07
A Conversation with a Little Old Lady - 2014-12-05
the Journey - 2014-11-23
I hope this lasts. - 2014-11-23
Tired. - 2014-11-18
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