... but not quite like as if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced. It was more like a sense of relief. No great whale of trouble up ahead, no fears of crying late at night, and no compulsion to carry a torch in all places nice and the ones not-so-nice. This is a new thing to me and my feeling is that it means I might be a bit more mature¹ this time around. Even though there is that everlasting existence of interests, none of these are too serious and pre-heart-grudging in any way. For once, I am not lost, but on top. Does this give me chills? Yes, somewhat, but not in a laborious kind of way. I ponder around the feeling, just on the outside, poking at it with what feels like a 40-feet pole, and trying to second-guess what it will do next. This kind of outward introspection is a novelty, but nonetheless, what I feel now is a necessity for my well-being further on, so I try to relax, go with the flow, and at the same time, learn.
¹ And we had a conversation. The word "ejaculation" was said. And the word "premature", as well. And I came back with, "No. Ejaculation mature. Not premature. Post-mature! Veteran ejaculation! Wise, learned man ejaculation! Mature man who does the washing-up!" But no, she vetoed it. She was China in the United Nations Security Council of my virginity.