A few weeks ago, in my Substack notes, I shared that I was working on an essay called LBE: Last Breakup Energy. This is the note:
LBE is a series of essays exploring heartbreak, grief, tending to old wounds, reclaiming longing and fearing getting stuck there. I believe it is also my first memoir being written.
I love the way intimacy begins before touch. I made love to each and every lover long before we stood naked and alone in the same room. Before the overpriced drink at a bar, before meeting at an exhibition or sitting together in a park. I made love to them in my mind. I daydreamed about the sound of their moan, the sound of their clothes being pulled back from their skin. I anticipated how their hands would feel moving down my back, their breath in my ear. Scent, breath, and anticipation always take me there first. It’s as if presence arrives before contact— lovemaking is never performance, it becomes attunement as language.
I am insatiable when it comes to affection. Kissing is my favorite art practice. I miss pulling someone I crave close, kissing their cheek, moving down their neck, breathing in the border where hairline meets skin, and lingering long enough to feel the moment shift—watching their eyes narrow with a hint of defiance I’ll learn to love, one eyebrow raised, a crooked smile forming, their chin tilting into a question. What are you really saying with this kiss?
