The Plain Girl Chapter 4 - Claire's Song - Sex Stories

The Plain Girl Chapter 4 - Claire's Song

... wonder with a little concern that how much he may have said to me where, just maybe, I didn’t really do my part, and so I just slept over it. He never interferes, but also never fails to provide the nudge that I so much need to tip the scale – if I give things the patient effort that he referred to.” “You know,” Matt was slowly shaking his head in wonder, “When I first met you at the library this morning, I felt like I was entering a dream. And now,” he paused to search carefully for his words, “I am starting to realize that actually,” – he took a deep breath, “I had really been in one all this time. Actually, thinking about it now, it was more like a nightmare. Now I’m leaving it.” “When I got up this morning” he continued, “my first thought was: ‘You are no more awake now, than you were when you were ten!’ But it wasn’t a dismal thought. It was elevating. I felt like my whole life had brought me to wake up today. I looked back on it in its entirety with neither fond attachment nor regret. It stood there like it was a life lived by another, other than me, but I had the benefit of all that was experienced. It left me with a feeling of tremendous obligation. And now, everything that I have thought and experienced since I met you is permeated with touch of reality that is so concrete, that it is as if I could hold it in my hand. I must admit, that in the past, this touch was an element I had just passed by like a person walking in his sleep. And now, here is Martin…” ...

... again he paused, “I must meet your teacher. It’s really high time to truly wake up!” He made these declarations with clarity and conviction so that they would be well etched into life’s imperishable record, lest he be able to patently forget them as never thought, much less spoken. And so bridge after bridge was burned along the way of a pilgrimage that was uncertain of its course, except not to return to the foolishness and misery of illusory self-indulgence. This was the perpetual temptation of an outgrown comfort, one from which we must wean ourselves, like the ample breasts of a nursing mother. No, if it was clear and articulated, each word became a sturdy rung of a ladder, which was the only way out of a shadowy pit, where both the eye and the mind played tricks on you. Such testimony, even in the small, serves to lend backbone to the flimsy nature of both memory and forgetfulness. Each has an ebb and flow that maintain the balance of our psychic stability. Each plays their part. We need to remember, so that our steps forward should find assurance and purposefulness from what we have gained. Then, we can apply the lessons of yesterday to today. But also, we need to be able to forget, lest the burden of our transgressions – all our foolishness, becomes more than we can bear and overcomes our striving. But, when we deal out blows that proceed from our initiative as decisive commitments in favor of truth, they must never be completely forgotten until the cunning beast of ...