Walking to Think Coffee in the morning, before work, I feel a sad deprivation, a calm coldness without shiver, an absence of libido. I haven’t felt sexually excited all weekend, and in consequence I wasn’t able to concentrate or find any inspiration. Maybe it is my propensity to perpetually seek a sexual context, and in the absence of it, I feel impotent. I flirt and the boredom of the day disappears, a joy captivates my heart to see her smile. I stare and the light of the flesh uplifts my heart. The muse of womanhood incites a awe of imagination in me that I can believe in. I have always been civic about my sexual urge, I have always been selective, another disposition that is not always the most beneficial perhaps.
This weekend I panicked to think I would never sleep with a woman any more for the rest of life. I was satisfied to innocently flirt, even just talk, to feel a gentle hug saying good bey, or even be near a woman distantly. There would be something to do then still. My loving eyes are scanning the streets for a beautiful doll, it is not even lust, but the pleasure of beauty, the yearning for romance evoked at the first sight of a female’s face. The studies say this feeling exists independently from the attachments people form. I confirm that this shallow craving that possesses the body as well as mind, is like the wind that blows in the sails of a boat on a calm sea. It is not a rudder that sets the course, it is not an anchor that ties one down to the bedrock.