I'm approaching 70. At my age sex is overrated and involves too much work. I find myself philosophizing more about sex than actually doing it. That does not mean I am not sexually excited by the spectacle of nubile, sexy girls with beautiful faces. But visual aesthetics is one thing, carnal satisfaction is another. Sex is getting too messy, time-consuming, unfulfilling, and sad.
Love, on the other hand, is more peaceful as I'm waiting for the first and final visit from Death.
Love makes life worthwhile. It soothes the nerves. It eases the pain. It makes everything bearable. At one time Love was everything to me. I was idealistic. I could sacrifice my life for my beloved. Now, since I realize for me Love is unattainable, I'm living for the arts. I write. I sing. I sculpture my body. And I dance.
(To be continued)
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