I miss the power that only a woman has…
…to excite a man
…to feel his need build and build
…to be in control of fulfilling that need
…to feel his release deep within me
…to know that the union between man and woman is completed

And this moment, this moment that so closely defines our souls, does it ever reach that point where it is complete? Does it ever offer opportunities grow deeper, not from passion but from a burning passion . . . the kind that rekindles each moment we see one another? I can borrow phrases from laureates that could tell my story better than I ever could but there would be no feelings. My story is one where I discover you tomorrow though I’ve journeyed through the past with you. I am still in awe of you and this, this thing greater than your touch is what completes me.

What I have is… endless doubts about my femininity
…fear of will he find another who can give him, what I so obviously cannot
…a battle within me to hold onto what little remaining self-esteem I own
…a resignation that this is how the rest of my life will play out
…a deep sadness and acceptance that the rest of my life will lack passion

This lack of passion you feel, this burning desire to please me is what keeps me strong. It is what, though you will never know, assures me that I am alive and that what I do is right. I want you, your touch that is, but life cripples my loins; I am the struggle now. I am the possibility that I cannot allow; the absence of necessities. I am sleepless nights of thoughts and prayers; knowing your life is my hands as we struggle. I want to touch you, taste you, and make love to you. But I live in darkness, allowing the verge of anticipated fear engulf my presence. I am a father, and a lover, I am a man . . . all things designed by God that dictates my thoughts to travel the path of survival. I’ve let you down though I’ve tried to lift you up. Seemingly that to succeed I must choose between failure and fault; I am afraid today, I am afraid of tomorrow.

What is life without passion? hope? desire?
Especially when those very things are exactly what had always defined you.

Passion, hope, and desire . . . they exist each time I walk out the door praying that I return with something worthy of your hopes. They exist each time I kneel to pray; to give thanks to God for your love. They exist, even when you do not realize it.
How do we lose ourselves? Even when we are looking at our own reflection in the mirror.
We don’t because we have faith and that is greater than doubt. Our time is now, not because we do not have but because we do have . . . each other.

What makes one mask worn, any more important than another?
Is it the mother, daughter, sister, wife, lover or friend the most important?

Or is always the missing mask, the most important one?!
No mask meant to be worn is more important than or worth less than the one we wear now. It is the mask that reflects our mood that defines our fragility. Yet it defines our strength. What you may not know is that the mask I wear is the one I thought I had to wear so that you would not doubt who we were; one soul struggling yet living.
I love you.

This sounds so vaguely familiar . . . is this something you experienced? Keep writing, you are so talented.

Whatever Magoo!