It's up there with "I'm going to love you like a love song"
Four minutes long and poorly executed?
Damn, there went the inner snark, yikes.
Anyway, yeah. I'd probably miss infatuation if I'd have ever experienced it. Well into my twenties, but... nope. Not a thing. Attraction from time to time, but nothing stronger. Living in hostile territory for an extended period
royally fucks with your mind, folks ♫ Though it doesn't really have to be that bad. You just have to break in the right ways, and once you're aware of it, you can influence how you shatter and reform.
Maybe eventually. I'unno, part of me's just not interested anymore, more of me's vaguely terrified of what actual affectionate contact would do to me. I'm well aware I've been basically starved for human contact most of my life and m'hilariously unsure how I'd react to someone I could actually trust to the extent of romantic interaction. My
own warmth is frankly addicting and I experienced psychological withdrawal symptoms for a while after going to college and leaving the pets behind. Adding a source as large and as powerful as another human to the mix... the heat from body heat is... different.
Then there's the somewhat mild sensory hypersensitivity*. I can approach the point of orgasm from freaking
still air, if I twist my mind the rest of the way. Moving air, or water, or sand or dirt or whatever is just... Sensation is literal bliss. It's, I'unno, hard to communicate. There's a lurking, vaguely ravenous, thirst for warmth in the depths. Sensation is spirituality. To feel is to approach or achieve divinity. Existence is perfection, for what is can be naught but what is. To feel is to touch the divine. To breath is to spread your arms as god. To smell is to taste the firmament of the world. Sight is its own reality. The pursuit of
experience is the fundamental good, not pleasure. Hedonism did not go far enough.
Tired now. Lost train of thought, so, I guess, nap?
*It's got its downsides, it's got its upsides, but I spent about twelve years of fairly consistent, if somewhat sparse, effort getting it and by the gods I'm keeping it. The thought of going back to not paying attention to my surroundings makes me vaguely terrified. Too much capability, lost.
And the award for most pathos-inducing passage of erotica goes to...me!
Eeehhh. *waggles hand* Don't get me wrong, it wasn't bad, but I'd only rate it so-so. Better than bad, not worse than good, but not best. Take it well, for it means you can still improve. The only sadness comes from reaching the personal extent of mastery, for at that point you can only get worse.