In this new time I return to the romantic attractions of art. I read books I had abandoned for flesh. I find the erotic potential in a painting or a photograph. I sit with women. Beautiful women of all ages, young girls with all the energy of someone discovering things anew. Older women, wise and articulate. Women of all shapes and sizes and all of them so sensual each in their own way. I feel better in my skin. I do not need you or anyone to see me. I see me. I change my hair. I become new for myself. Nothing for anyone but me. And I look and I nod. I am fine. I find myself so.
Soon. Not now, but soon, in a day or two or three, I will go out and drink a cocktail that tastes of tobacco and I will dance out in the open where anyone could see me. I will be alone. Comfortably alone. I will have a book and a pen and my Moleskine. I might write.
This now excites me. The idea of this and the potential of a future not tangled up in someone elses view of me.