“ It weighed on me that I loved Luther Wolfe and went home to him every night to lose myself in his flesh. […] I could have stayed all day and washed and ironed Luther Wolfe’s shirts, could have fetched his coffee, bathed him, waited by his side,...

Aug 16 -

It weighed on me that I loved Luther Wolfe and went home to him every night to lose myself in his flesh. […] I could have stayed all day and washed and ironed Luther Wolfe’s shirts, could have fetched his coffee, bathed him, waited by his side, listened to his voice, watched him all day. It was awful, the feeling, where did it come from? […] 

I finally went to the library and looked up women, […] wanting to know if it was just in me, this obsession, or was it in women. I went back in history as far as the written word went and shuddered in the silence, […] only Sappho somewhere in 600 B.C., and what did she write but love poetry? There were women before Christ, women written by men, filled in by men, but they were there: Penelope, who spent a whole epic poem waiting for her husband, Odysseus, to return , and the Queen Dido, who fell hopelessly in love with Aeneas, who, once having seduced her, realized he had lands to conquer and men to kill, and left her brokenhearted […].

- The Body Spoken, Janice Deaner

(via sexyreaders-blog)

This blog is about the written word. Word? Word!