I know it’s counter intuitive but loooonging for something, desiring the sparkle in the distance, the seemingly unreachable dream, the tantalizing untouchable beckoning, the lost lover of the past grown bright and shining in the present – longing is sweeter than having!
It has to be. It plays out on the inside, in the soft shelter of the imagination and the heart. No clanging clashing with reality there.
It’s true, that for a long time I’ve been on the periphery of a great love affair with Viggo Mortensen. As Freud in A Dangerous Method, as the D.H. Lawrence quoting Master Chief in G.I. Jane, he never disappoints. Remains seductive. Alluring. I never loose my desire for him. My longing continues. There, I’ve confessed!
But then, of course I’ve lived too much. I know too well that should he actually take the leap (yes please!), come bounding out of the silver screen to land firmly at my side, a living breathing man (take the leap!) facing me, being with me, engaging with me, would I like him just as well? Just as consitently, always? Would my delicious, bittersweet longing transform into perennial love? Hmm, no guarantee there.