denny-1's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- passion I'm a hopeless romantic. I love being in love, I love passion...it's a spark that is lit inside my soul...one that I can't help but feed...I love to daydream about love...about what it feels like in the 'newness' of a relationship and what it is like when you look into someone's eyes and just love them...Passion is my poison. I feed off of it, in myself and in others. My world is driven by passion, without it I am nothing. I realized last night just how hopeless a romantic I truly am. I watched an old version of the movie Sabrina with Humphrey Bogart and Audrey Hepburn. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the story...it is about a rich family that has two sons, the eldest is played by Bogart, his character is the driven business man with no time for love, the younger brother, David, is a player, sophisticated in the art of scoring women. The brothers grow up in a mansion with butlers, maids, and chauffeurs. They all live under the same roof in separate quarters. Sabrina, the daughter of the family chauffeurs falls in love with David during her childhood and watches from a far his love affairs with the many women he meets. At the age of 20, Sabrina's father sends her off to Paris to become a Chef. Much to Sabrina's dislike for leaving, she soon finds in herself a change from a naive little girl to a beautiful sophisticated women. Upon her return 2 years later, and with great enthusiasm David falls in love with her...the problem...he's been set up to marry another women he had been seeing, by his brother (Bogart) all for a business merger...when the merger is threatened Bogart's character steps in and lulls the girl away...ultimately, during this time Sabrina and Bogart's character fall in love... In my life I have run into this many of times. Passion. Because I am drawn to it, I often find myself caught up in the 'idea' of passion, not the reality of it...consequences can squish moments of passion in an instant...so my advice...drink martini's. It was two years ago...perhaps more, I can remember the day as clear as it was yesterday. I had meet this man, older, sophisticated, dressed well, to well, as if he were gay. He smelled of fine soap, the kind you find in specialty shops. His clothes were pressed, his pants made with cashmere. He wore his age with grace. He is and ever shall be stuck in my memory. I can't say that I was immediately attracted to this man. He was first a sexy, brilliant voice that carried over the talk radio stations, speaking of current events, politics, and sex. I ate it up, every last word. He even got me to vote. As a result, I became passionate about current events, about the world, about my place in this world and the opinions that I had about the world. I meet this man by chance...or perhaps it was karma...the act of motion, of doing... that I meet him. He was giving a radio broadcast on opening day of the baseball season, and it had just so happen that I was attending the game. After the game, I had convinced a friend to enter the tiny establishment that was hosting his show. I wore jeans, a red tee shirt and a sox visor. I looked cute, tipsy, and smiled with an innocence that comes with to many beers. I remember being disappointed that he was not younger and cuter than his voice portrayed. I went into the bar for a reason, to meet him, and I didn't leave until that task was accomplished. After a martini, for support...I walked up to the desk where all of the technical equipment was and I introduced myself to him. "HI," I said. "I love your show." He replied immediately, "thanks, what is your name.", I replied, and he immediately responded, "can I call you." I was so taken aback by this that I didn't even think to say no. I said, "Sure." and he asked me for my number. I reached into my pocketbook and handed him my card. As I walked out of the bar, I realized what had just happened. He was good. Really good. And I was in trouble. Later that evening he had left a message on my voice mail. Something along the lines of, it was a pleasure, delight, blah blah blah to meet you. Please allow me the pleasure of your company...Let's have dinner...he was passionate about meeting me. It was the finest posion that I had ever been dished. I called him back. After an exchange of flirtatious voice and e-mails I agreed to meet. I remember this day. He had some event to attend and would be meeting me in his suite. I knew that it was not sex that I was after and I was not bothered by guilt nor threatened by the location. After a drink at the Hotel's bar I ventured off to the concierge desk and asked what room Mr......was staying. The concierge must have been prepared to inform me of the room because he did not hesitate to answer the question. I ventured to the elevators and made my way up to the room. He must have known I was coming. His body was half in and half out of the door. I remember feeling overwhelmed. He smiled and said, "come in." The entrance to his suite was through the bedroom...this I thought strange, but strolled in anyway. We made our way through the dining room and into the living room area...it was a large suite, one of those 'Pretty Women' suits. He sat on the couch and I on the arm chair and we talked....about everything...his life, my life, dreams, memories, music, sports...words flowed from our mouths freely, openly, without judgment, or hesitation. He asked me if I would like a drink...like he had to ask...and immediately ordered cosmopolitans from room service. Minutes later a tray arrived with a pitcher of pink stuff over crushed ice and two martini glasses...he set the tray down at the bar and I jumped up all sophisticatedly and said, "oh, I'll get it." I had never had a Cosmo before this, and had not known how it was supposed to be served. He stood behind me and watched as a father would his child riding a two wheel bike for the first time, I poured the lemonade looking substance into the glasses and placed the pitcher down on the table. He said, "the ice, " and not realizing it, and without experience in drinking martini's I reached my hand into the bucket and plopped droppings of crushed ice into our glasses...he looked at me, smiled and placed the pitcher back on the bucket of ice....this is one of those moments in life where you do something completely stupid, smile, and realize just how charming innocence can be. After polishing off the pitcher I sat next to him on the couch. He wore a white button down shirt with blue stripes. His skin was tan, and his hands were strong and worn. (I love hands...hate feet, but love a strong set of hands) We talked more...he asked me about my boyfriend, I was honest. He told me stories of his past...He asked to touch my hair. I let him. He spoke of how beautiful he thought I was...I let him. He caressed the back of my neck with his strong tanned hands and he starred into my eyes with a passion that I hadn't seen in a long time. A passion that at this moment of my life I needed. I rambled on and on about my thoughts and ideas and he listened. In some tangent, he interrupted and said, "you know when I first meet you I thought you were just a beautiful face, but now I see that you are dangerous."...he reached over and kissed me. A kiss that warms your entire body. Consequences...I stopped and pulled away. I realized what I had done after I had done it...just a kiss... but... a kiss with meaning. A kiss with passion. A hopelessly romantic kiss. A kiss that I have never been able to forget...there has only been one other to deliver such a kiss...and like this man, I only saw him twice, and only had the pleasure of his lips twice. This is my poison. I'm feeling a tinge of guilt as I type this story out...not because I feel as if I have betrayed my boyfriend...who coincidently I love very much...but because he and I do not have this PASSION together. It is hard to explain...it is reality vs. fantasy. In a real world, operating under real circumstances a relationship with either of the men that delivered such a kiss would not work...or at least I'm not willing to give either circumstances a chance to work. The passion I feel for my boyfriend is different, it's a feeling of strength, of compassion, as if he is passionate about who I am no matter what it is I say or don't say, an unconditioned passion... On the second encounter with the older man he asked me, as I was leaving, if he could, "fight for me,"...I replied, "my heart belongs to someone else." That was the last time I spoke with him. My heart does belong to someone, who I love very much. Someone who I can't imagine being without in my life. This is my reality... Life is funny. Not funny ha ha, but funny. It throws you curve balls, misleads you, and ultimately gives you answers to questions you never thought to ask. ...passion lies within. It is self generated, and resides in the deepest corners of our existence. Passion is not love, but a misinterpreted, manipulated force that can be misconstrued as love... 11:37 a.m. - 2003-10-20 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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