Sightless

Was thinking how the unknown excites us. How we can be so intimate in these instant message boxes, but at the same time not know exactly how each of us looks, what each of us are actually feeling. We are left to our own images of what is real and not real. But that is, after all, what we specialize in. Crafting that image in our mind to a statue of just what our fantasy sculpture should be. It is safe that way. Insulated by the walls around our dwelling and the miles of cables and cords that separates you from me. Insulated by the impenetrability of the guardians of our minds.

Ravenous appetites on what the perfect man is. What the perfect woman is. What the perfect love making session would be. Sight, smell, touch and hearing all unavailable...or tricked into feeling something is there when it isn't. It isn't real but it doesn't matter. It thrills you...it thrills me. We are not harming anyone. Are we?

But I have to wonder about some, and perhaps myself at times. I wonder if after years of suppressing our curiosity on a keyboard it would make us unable to enjoy these senses for real. The real touch of something confining your wrist. The real smell of a partner in heat. The real sound of devices of pleasure doing their task. Would it be too much to take?

Maybe that is what we hide from. Maybe that is why we keep typing. Maybe that is why I'll wake up tomorrow to type some more.

Your devoted,
Simon Kade