I was updating my "featuring" section over the past few days, and I realized that I still have P listed there. And as I tried to edit his description appropriately, I fell short. Because the truth is, I don't know what to say about him anymore. He has, in a subtle yet simultaneously forcible manner, removed himself completely from my life. I haven't spoken to him since he left Colorado at the beginning of the year. I see him online sometimes, and I don't even have to keep my hand from clicking on his name to send a message. (Which might not seem like a big deal, but you should see me try to do the same when I notice Edward or nonboyfriend's name pop up on the screen.) I don't have the slightest idea what's going on with his life. My last memory of him is him looking at me, eyes pleading, begging me not to ask him the questions I so desperately wanted to while we were at a mutual friend's house. He promised me he'd explain some other day. I told him I could wait.
And then I forgot to ask him. I couldn't remember the details about what, exactly, I'd needed to say to him, through my drunken haze.
And it breaks my heart to think that this might really have been the last chance I got to speak to him. And I blew it. I was too damn drunk to function properly, and then too embarrassed to admit as much when he asked me about the conversation a few days later. Our single conversation since was contrived and painfully limited in scope. So reading over his description in my blog, one I wrote over a year ago, physically hurts. I see myself writing words like "soulmate" and "unconditional love" and I realize it's entirely possible that I've lost all that. And what's maybe most interesting and at the same time most painful, is that I'm not mourning the loss of a lover. I'm mourning the loss of a friend. Because he isn't my friend anymore. He hasn't been my lover for some time, and that was something I could deal with. Especially because things never really, fundamentally, changed between us - there were only the logistics of whether or not we were sleeping together that month. He still knew me better than anyone, and I, him. He still understood me without words and knew exactly what I wanted and needed from him. He was never afraid to talk to me, to yell at me, to try to smack some sense into me (metaphysically... he'd never lay a hand on me in any way I didn't want him to). And that is gone.
Because he is moving a world away. And doesn't think long-distance relationships, of any kind, can work. Never mind that before he decided to make this move, he came to me, nearly in tears, saying he couldn't decide between being with me and living out this dream he's had forever that would take him across the globe. Of course, without hesitation, I told him to go for his dream. How could I have done anything else? But sometimes I think he interpreted that as me giving up on him. At the same time, that doesn't make sense, because he knows me better than that. Or at least he used to. Maybe now he doesn't care to.
The last few times I've spoken with him, I've gotten the distinct impression that he's ashamed of me. I have done a lot of shame-worthy things in my life. Very few, if any, of them have been in the past year that he's been treating me like he doesn't want to know me. I remember the last time we hung out before I left for Spain. It was me, nonboyfriend, gayboyfriend, P, G, and Roomie. We went dancing. Myself, nonboyfriend, gayboyfriend and roomie were all sufficiently sauced. We were, admittedly, not at our best. And there were some silly stupid decisions made, but nothing tragic. Everyone went home together and everything was fine. Nevertheless, in the morning, P lectured me about my relationship with nonboyfriend, getting all protective-older-brother-esque on me. I don't think I reacted particularly harshly.
But since then (although he knows I'm not with nonboyfriend any longer), P has seemed distant. And ashamed of me. Acting like he's gracing me, humoring me, with his presence. Like he's just barely tolerating me. I just don't know what I could have done to fall so far away from him. And with all he's forgiven me for, how could this really be the final straw? Or did I really just fall away and get forgotten? I'm not sure which is worse.
And this song has always made me think of P. He would know why.
Showing posts with label P. Show all posts
Showing posts with label P. Show all posts
Friday, March 13, 2009
Sunday, October 12, 2008
on NOT having sex.
EDIT: Re-reading this, it's terribly scatter-brained. Ah well. I assume you've all come to expect nothing less from me, right?
Obviously, I spend a lot of time talking, thinking, and writing about sex. It's something I enjoy doing - Foucault would most certainly peg me as one of those people convinced that discussing sex is taboo and by doing so I'm being subversive, though I don't necessarily think that. (Maybe because I've spent too much time reading Foucault...) But I haven't gotten laid recently. Which, I actually believe, given everything that's happened lately, is a good thing. Although it does make it a little difficult to maintain a sex blog. Or so it would seem through my lack of posts with any kind of substance. I'm reminded of a scene in the final season of Sex and the City, when Carrie thinks her column is being cancelled:
(To Samantha) These are troubled times, my friend... People with REAL jobs are unemployed - this is not a good time to be whipped cream!... I'm not getting laid, so I'm getting laid off!
But here's the thing. By NOT having sex as of late, I've actually had a little more time to clear my head and, ironically, think about sex. Perhaps more in the relationship sense. I suppose it's an unintentional consequence, but I think, for the time being, I'm done with one-night stands. I'm not about to say that I've suddenly become monogamous or anything like that, but I think I'm going to stick to sleeping with people I know. I've been talking/emailing with friends, and especially those at home have expressed some really serious concern that I'm going to get hurt if I open myself up right now, being vulnerable and what not.
I've received emails and messages from a few friends, and recently had a conversation with P about all this. I have a hard time trusting people, especially here. I'm hesitant to do so, because I first assume that everyone doesn't like me. I know, that doesn't speak well of my self-esteem, but that's my default. I either assume that people actively dislike me or simply don't notice me. Which, yes, is why I was so taken aback when this happened. But as I was talking to P about it, he mentioned that it sounded like my pessimism was starting to border on paranoia. And I think he has a point. I always feel like I need to prove to people that I'm not a bitch, that I'm actually smart and worth spending time with. The paranoia aspect is perhaps most prevalent in regards to my fellow program-mates here. I went out this weekend and ended up running into most of them who were on the pre-semester seminar with me. I ended up talking to one of the guys, who reminds me of an old friend who royally fucked me over, emotionally, and he asked me several times why I don't come out with he and his friends (the seminar-mates). I told him, first and foremost, that it's because they don't invite me. But I also pointed out that more importantly, I feel out of place in the group. I feel like they don't like me and that I'm the weird, quiet, "curvy" girl who everyone thinks is kind of a bitch. He insisted that he's never heard anyone speak badly about me. That people, when they found out about Kirsten through the grapevine, were amazed at how well I was handling it, felt bad for not knowing... And that even before, though, they wanted me to come out with them on the weekends and didn't know why I didn't.
I'm hesitant to believe him, because I think it all sounds like just telling me what I want to hear (or what he assumes I want to hear). But talking with P about it the next day, I was able to step away a little bit and analyze that thought process. I'm actually incapable of believing he was being honest. I have so convinced myself that people here hate me that I can't even fathom any other option. I think that's officially paranoid. And I don't think I like it much.
So I'm going to try to do something about it. I still don't think I'll be going out with giant groups of Americans, but this weekend, I experimented with letting people in, just a little bit, and I was incredibly richly rewarded. In fact, there's a chance I'm crushing on someone here in the program (woah!) a little bit... But I'm holding off on writing about it because I really, really don't want to jinx anything. But hopefully expect a post soon gushing about how all that is going and how calm I feel around him and who he reminds me of and how he's different at the same time.
And now, in an effort to bring this full-circle... I think the crushing might have a little bit to do with this renewed drive to NOT have sex. It's a strange effect, in my opinion, because usually when I start liking someone, the first thing I want to do is jump their bones. The idea that I just want to spend time with this guy, want more hugs, want more late-night conversations, is something new for me. At least in recent memory. It's not exactly that I'm saving myself for him or anything like that, but maybe I'm realizing THAT is what I need right now more than a quick lay. Which is also kind of a mindfuck. My mind is getting fucked a lot lately. But basically, to those of you who were/are/have been worried... I promise, I'm proceeding with caution. Maybe a little too much, sometimes - something even P agreed with me on. (And, of course, I trust P more than just about anyone in the world and he knows me, in all seriousness, better than I know myself.)
In closing, and in an effort to put people's concerns at ease, I smiled this weekend. A lot. I wasn't quite so up in my head. I still find it rather difficult to get images of Kirsten out of my head, and I'm absolutely still processing, but I think I might have really realized that I am allowed to be happy, even while mourning. And maybe it's sinking in that I KNOW she would want me to make the best of this experience. As a good friend back in New York (and my only outside friend who personally knew Kirsten) told me, Kirsten would kick my ass if I went home now.
"Sometimes it all still feels like a mass of dots. But more and more these days, I feel like we're all connected. And it's beautiful... and funny... and good."
(Bonus points to anyone who can name where that quote is from. WITHOUT imdb'ing it!)
Obviously, I spend a lot of time talking, thinking, and writing about sex. It's something I enjoy doing - Foucault would most certainly peg me as one of those people convinced that discussing sex is taboo and by doing so I'm being subversive, though I don't necessarily think that. (Maybe because I've spent too much time reading Foucault...) But I haven't gotten laid recently. Which, I actually believe, given everything that's happened lately, is a good thing. Although it does make it a little difficult to maintain a sex blog. Or so it would seem through my lack of posts with any kind of substance. I'm reminded of a scene in the final season of Sex and the City, when Carrie thinks her column is being cancelled:
(To Samantha) These are troubled times, my friend... People with REAL jobs are unemployed - this is not a good time to be whipped cream!... I'm not getting laid, so I'm getting laid off!
But here's the thing. By NOT having sex as of late, I've actually had a little more time to clear my head and, ironically, think about sex. Perhaps more in the relationship sense. I suppose it's an unintentional consequence, but I think, for the time being, I'm done with one-night stands. I'm not about to say that I've suddenly become monogamous or anything like that, but I think I'm going to stick to sleeping with people I know. I've been talking/emailing with friends, and especially those at home have expressed some really serious concern that I'm going to get hurt if I open myself up right now, being vulnerable and what not.
I've received emails and messages from a few friends, and recently had a conversation with P about all this. I have a hard time trusting people, especially here. I'm hesitant to do so, because I first assume that everyone doesn't like me. I know, that doesn't speak well of my self-esteem, but that's my default. I either assume that people actively dislike me or simply don't notice me. Which, yes, is why I was so taken aback when this happened. But as I was talking to P about it, he mentioned that it sounded like my pessimism was starting to border on paranoia. And I think he has a point. I always feel like I need to prove to people that I'm not a bitch, that I'm actually smart and worth spending time with. The paranoia aspect is perhaps most prevalent in regards to my fellow program-mates here. I went out this weekend and ended up running into most of them who were on the pre-semester seminar with me. I ended up talking to one of the guys, who reminds me of an old friend who royally fucked me over, emotionally, and he asked me several times why I don't come out with he and his friends (the seminar-mates). I told him, first and foremost, that it's because they don't invite me. But I also pointed out that more importantly, I feel out of place in the group. I feel like they don't like me and that I'm the weird, quiet, "curvy" girl who everyone thinks is kind of a bitch. He insisted that he's never heard anyone speak badly about me. That people, when they found out about Kirsten through the grapevine, were amazed at how well I was handling it, felt bad for not knowing... And that even before, though, they wanted me to come out with them on the weekends and didn't know why I didn't.
I'm hesitant to believe him, because I think it all sounds like just telling me what I want to hear (or what he assumes I want to hear). But talking with P about it the next day, I was able to step away a little bit and analyze that thought process. I'm actually incapable of believing he was being honest. I have so convinced myself that people here hate me that I can't even fathom any other option. I think that's officially paranoid. And I don't think I like it much.
So I'm going to try to do something about it. I still don't think I'll be going out with giant groups of Americans, but this weekend, I experimented with letting people in, just a little bit, and I was incredibly richly rewarded. In fact, there's a chance I'm crushing on someone here in the program (woah!) a little bit... But I'm holding off on writing about it because I really, really don't want to jinx anything. But hopefully expect a post soon gushing about how all that is going and how calm I feel around him and who he reminds me of and how he's different at the same time.
And now, in an effort to bring this full-circle... I think the crushing might have a little bit to do with this renewed drive to NOT have sex. It's a strange effect, in my opinion, because usually when I start liking someone, the first thing I want to do is jump their bones. The idea that I just want to spend time with this guy, want more hugs, want more late-night conversations, is something new for me. At least in recent memory. It's not exactly that I'm saving myself for him or anything like that, but maybe I'm realizing THAT is what I need right now more than a quick lay. Which is also kind of a mindfuck. My mind is getting fucked a lot lately. But basically, to those of you who were/are/have been worried... I promise, I'm proceeding with caution. Maybe a little too much, sometimes - something even P agreed with me on. (And, of course, I trust P more than just about anyone in the world and he knows me, in all seriousness, better than I know myself.)
In closing, and in an effort to put people's concerns at ease, I smiled this weekend. A lot. I wasn't quite so up in my head. I still find it rather difficult to get images of Kirsten out of my head, and I'm absolutely still processing, but I think I might have really realized that I am allowed to be happy, even while mourning. And maybe it's sinking in that I KNOW she would want me to make the best of this experience. As a good friend back in New York (and my only outside friend who personally knew Kirsten) told me, Kirsten would kick my ass if I went home now.
"Sometimes it all still feels like a mass of dots. But more and more these days, I feel like we're all connected. And it's beautiful... and funny... and good."
(Bonus points to anyone who can name where that quote is from. WITHOUT imdb'ing it!)
Friday, July 25, 2008
I love this city.
It always seems to go this way, where the last few weeks I live somewhere are the most fun. I guess that's not a coincidence - maybe it's a lack of inibitions, knowing time is limited. Whatever it is, I've had basically the best weekend I've had in a year. And it's only Friday afternoon.
Wednesday, I spent the evening with my beloved Essin Em, who, unfortunately, fractured/sprained her ankle while on a date on Tuesday. Of course, it's her right ankle, so she can't drive, so I went over there to help her out, and bring movies/dinner/run errands and what not. We talked about how much women can suck and what defines a relationship and had the same kind of fabulous deep, funny, authentic conversation I've come to expect and so enjoy when with her. We watched Sex and Breakfast, which was thoroughly disappointing, and I headed out around 11:15.
While en route, a friend who lived in the neighborhood called and insisted I come over to his house. So I did. And I'm not so much at liberty to go in to details, but I had an excellent time, and heard some things I really needed to hear. I'm feeling much better about life.
On Thursday, my friend gave me a ride to the store I used to work at, where they'd asked me to pitch in. I'm beyond broke, so I agreed, and worked the regular 8 hour shift. It's by no means a hard job, and the money is decent (it better be after I've worked for them for five years), so depite a little stress and having to wear my friend's clothes to work (I didn't have a change), everything went smoothly. And P met me for lunch, and graciously paid, since I hadn't gotten the paycheck.
I love how our friendship has evolved. I've known P since we were 14, and while we've always flirted with one another (and at times it's gone far beyond flirting), I'm so incredibly comfortable in his presence. I can't even verbalize how lucky I am to have not one but TWO people in my romantic(ish) life who make me feel so fabulous. (Granted, I'm not currently sleeping with P, but I will always consider him and I semi-romantically involved. It's complicated in the best way possible.)
I got home from work about 6:30 and passed out hard until almost 9. I hadn't slept much the night before and I desperately needed the powernap. My gayboyfriend and I had made tentative plans to go out to the gay bars that night, and so I recruited my favorite roommate, and P's hetero-lifemate (who is also an old and close friend of mine and has a thing for my roommate), G. My gayboyfriend, P and G all got to my house around the same time, and after a debate about who was driving/drinking/paying for those drinks, we headed out in P's car. (P doesn't drink much, ever, but the real challenge was getting him to drive which meant he'd be closing out the bars with us. We suceeded.)
We went first to the somewhat catch-all gay bar, where drinks are reasonably priced and there's a mixed crowd. Thursday nights are usually the biggest night there, but it was actually a little slow. Roomie and her coworkers were at a gay dance club a few blocks, so after a few drinks at the bar, the boys and I walked over there to meet up with her.
Now, this specific club is interesting. It's a huge space, with two (and a half, arguably) dance floors, separated so they're basically in different rooms, and a fabulous patio. It looks run-down from the outside, but the drinks are ridiculously cheap (and it was 2-for-1 night) and they play both house/pop and country. (On separate dancefloors, obviously.) It was more crowded than I've seen it before, and with one more drink and a shot, the boys and I all got on the dancefloor. It was somewhere near midnight.
And we didn't stop dancing until the bouncer literally hussled us out of the bar. I don't usually dance at clubs because I'm self-conscious, but I saw how the boys were letting loose, and decided I could do the same. And anyways, you should SEE me move my hips. I've gotten more than a few compliments on that. (Hell yes, belly dance.) I danced with Roomie and her friends, with P, with G, and with Gayboyfriend. I stepped away to get another drink (or something) and when I came back, P was dancing, which was fabulous enough because he was being shy, but he was dancing WITH A BOY. Who had his hands all over him. And P was loving it.
Now, usually this wouldn't be a big deal, but, well, those of you who know P... it kind of was. You could tell he loved the attention, and I loved seeing him love it. I was dancing with G/no one in particular, and all of a sudden, I was sandwiched between G and a random gay boy. It was funny because even though I knew they weren't interested in me (G is straight but there's nothing there), I felt so wanted and fabulous. Because even if they didn't WANT me, they wanted to dance with me. Which was more than enough.
The rest of the night went largely like that. After a while, P's dance partner came over and started dancing with me, which was also fun. By 1:30, I was drenched in sweat and jealous of all the boys who could take thier shirts off. So I took mine off. Which totally got me attention from a few gay men around me. It was the definition of fabulous. I have never had so much fun at a club.
And here's the real clincher (although the late-night diner food was fabulous, as well)... I was dancing so hard that I didn't want to carry my purse with me. So I set it underneath Roomie's on a stool around the table we sort of had. When they turned the houselights on to try to hurry us all out, I went over to pick it up. And there was no purse. Anywhere. Roomie had hers, but mine was gone. I started freaking out. Random boys who we'd been dancing with noticed my distress and offered to help me look for it. We couldn't find it. I went to talk to the bartender in the room we'd been dancing in, praying that someone turned it in. He hadn't seen it, but told me to check security/at the front. (The club has something like 4 or 5 bars.) I asked the cowboy-hat clad bartender, and he said he hadn't seen it, but told me to wait til people cleared out and we could look for it again. I sat at the bar, trying not to freak out too much. My friends had already been hussled out, and I saw them looking at me through the door, genuine concern on thier faces. A tall, lean man with gentle facial hair and a cowboy hat walked up to me, hands resting behind his back. I thought he might ask to take my number in case they found it. I had pretty much resolved myself that my purse was gone. Credit cards, brand-new I'm-21-now ID, checkbook, phone... everything.
"Is your name Sasha?" I nodded.
"What's your pin say?" The tall cowboy asked me.
I thought he'd asked me for my pin number.
"I'm sorry, what?" I responded.
"What. Do. Your. Pins. Say?"
Suddenly I understood. I call them buttons, and I'd recently put them on the strap of my purse.
"OH! Oh my god!" I literally jumped up. "One says 'Musgrave,' and the other is black and says 'Let's get one thing straight - I'm not.'"
The cowboy pulled my purse out from behind his back. I squealed and hugged him. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! You're AMAZING!"
The bear standing next to him asked to see my Musgrave pin and was relieved to see it was an anti-Musgrave button. (She's a Senator who's sponsored the Federal Amendment to ban gay marriage.) He made a joke about thinking I was in the wrong place. I laughed and hugged him too. My cowboy and the bear escorted me out, and the Roomie, as soon as I came out, pruse in hand, thanked them agian and handed them a $20.
I was just utterly amazed, because nowhere else would that have happened. In most clubs, in any city here in the states or I imagine in the world, my purse would have been history. Instead, someone picked it up, turned it in, and then held it safely and made sure I was who I said I was before they gave it back. That's just incredible to me. And one more reason why I love this community. We're here for each other. It's primarily a men's club, but I not only had the best time I've ever had, they took fabulous care of me. Where else could I find something like that?
I LOVE this city. And it's things like this that make me think this is really where I belong.
Wednesday, I spent the evening with my beloved Essin Em, who, unfortunately, fractured/sprained her ankle while on a date on Tuesday. Of course, it's her right ankle, so she can't drive, so I went over there to help her out, and bring movies/dinner/run errands and what not. We talked about how much women can suck and what defines a relationship and had the same kind of fabulous deep, funny, authentic conversation I've come to expect and so enjoy when with her. We watched Sex and Breakfast, which was thoroughly disappointing, and I headed out around 11:15.
While en route, a friend who lived in the neighborhood called and insisted I come over to his house. So I did. And I'm not so much at liberty to go in to details, but I had an excellent time, and heard some things I really needed to hear. I'm feeling much better about life.
On Thursday, my friend gave me a ride to the store I used to work at, where they'd asked me to pitch in. I'm beyond broke, so I agreed, and worked the regular 8 hour shift. It's by no means a hard job, and the money is decent (it better be after I've worked for them for five years), so depite a little stress and having to wear my friend's clothes to work (I didn't have a change), everything went smoothly. And P met me for lunch, and graciously paid, since I hadn't gotten the paycheck.
I love how our friendship has evolved. I've known P since we were 14, and while we've always flirted with one another (and at times it's gone far beyond flirting), I'm so incredibly comfortable in his presence. I can't even verbalize how lucky I am to have not one but TWO people in my romantic(ish) life who make me feel so fabulous. (Granted, I'm not currently sleeping with P, but I will always consider him and I semi-romantically involved. It's complicated in the best way possible.)
I got home from work about 6:30 and passed out hard until almost 9. I hadn't slept much the night before and I desperately needed the powernap. My gayboyfriend and I had made tentative plans to go out to the gay bars that night, and so I recruited my favorite roommate, and P's hetero-lifemate (who is also an old and close friend of mine and has a thing for my roommate), G. My gayboyfriend, P and G all got to my house around the same time, and after a debate about who was driving/drinking/paying for those drinks, we headed out in P's car. (P doesn't drink much, ever, but the real challenge was getting him to drive which meant he'd be closing out the bars with us. We suceeded.)
We went first to the somewhat catch-all gay bar, where drinks are reasonably priced and there's a mixed crowd. Thursday nights are usually the biggest night there, but it was actually a little slow. Roomie and her coworkers were at a gay dance club a few blocks, so after a few drinks at the bar, the boys and I walked over there to meet up with her.
Now, this specific club is interesting. It's a huge space, with two (and a half, arguably) dance floors, separated so they're basically in different rooms, and a fabulous patio. It looks run-down from the outside, but the drinks are ridiculously cheap (and it was 2-for-1 night) and they play both house/pop and country. (On separate dancefloors, obviously.) It was more crowded than I've seen it before, and with one more drink and a shot, the boys and I all got on the dancefloor. It was somewhere near midnight.
And we didn't stop dancing until the bouncer literally hussled us out of the bar. I don't usually dance at clubs because I'm self-conscious, but I saw how the boys were letting loose, and decided I could do the same. And anyways, you should SEE me move my hips. I've gotten more than a few compliments on that. (Hell yes, belly dance.) I danced with Roomie and her friends, with P, with G, and with Gayboyfriend. I stepped away to get another drink (or something) and when I came back, P was dancing, which was fabulous enough because he was being shy, but he was dancing WITH A BOY. Who had his hands all over him. And P was loving it.
Now, usually this wouldn't be a big deal, but, well, those of you who know P... it kind of was. You could tell he loved the attention, and I loved seeing him love it. I was dancing with G/no one in particular, and all of a sudden, I was sandwiched between G and a random gay boy. It was funny because even though I knew they weren't interested in me (G is straight but there's nothing there), I felt so wanted and fabulous. Because even if they didn't WANT me, they wanted to dance with me. Which was more than enough.
The rest of the night went largely like that. After a while, P's dance partner came over and started dancing with me, which was also fun. By 1:30, I was drenched in sweat and jealous of all the boys who could take thier shirts off. So I took mine off. Which totally got me attention from a few gay men around me. It was the definition of fabulous. I have never had so much fun at a club.
And here's the real clincher (although the late-night diner food was fabulous, as well)... I was dancing so hard that I didn't want to carry my purse with me. So I set it underneath Roomie's on a stool around the table we sort of had. When they turned the houselights on to try to hurry us all out, I went over to pick it up. And there was no purse. Anywhere. Roomie had hers, but mine was gone. I started freaking out. Random boys who we'd been dancing with noticed my distress and offered to help me look for it. We couldn't find it. I went to talk to the bartender in the room we'd been dancing in, praying that someone turned it in. He hadn't seen it, but told me to check security/at the front. (The club has something like 4 or 5 bars.) I asked the cowboy-hat clad bartender, and he said he hadn't seen it, but told me to wait til people cleared out and we could look for it again. I sat at the bar, trying not to freak out too much. My friends had already been hussled out, and I saw them looking at me through the door, genuine concern on thier faces. A tall, lean man with gentle facial hair and a cowboy hat walked up to me, hands resting behind his back. I thought he might ask to take my number in case they found it. I had pretty much resolved myself that my purse was gone. Credit cards, brand-new I'm-21-now ID, checkbook, phone... everything.
"Is your name Sasha?" I nodded.
"What's your pin say?" The tall cowboy asked me.
I thought he'd asked me for my pin number.
"I'm sorry, what?" I responded.
"What. Do. Your. Pins. Say?"
Suddenly I understood. I call them buttons, and I'd recently put them on the strap of my purse.
"OH! Oh my god!" I literally jumped up. "One says 'Musgrave,' and the other is black and says 'Let's get one thing straight - I'm not.'"
The cowboy pulled my purse out from behind his back. I squealed and hugged him. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! You're AMAZING!"
The bear standing next to him asked to see my Musgrave pin and was relieved to see it was an anti-Musgrave button. (She's a Senator who's sponsored the Federal Amendment to ban gay marriage.) He made a joke about thinking I was in the wrong place. I laughed and hugged him too. My cowboy and the bear escorted me out, and the Roomie, as soon as I came out, pruse in hand, thanked them agian and handed them a $20.
I was just utterly amazed, because nowhere else would that have happened. In most clubs, in any city here in the states or I imagine in the world, my purse would have been history. Instead, someone picked it up, turned it in, and then held it safely and made sure I was who I said I was before they gave it back. That's just incredible to me. And one more reason why I love this community. We're here for each other. It's primarily a men's club, but I not only had the best time I've ever had, they took fabulous care of me. Where else could I find something like that?
I LOVE this city. And it's things like this that make me think this is really where I belong.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Sometimes...
Sometimes, I am a collossal idiot.
Other times, I'm an asshole.
Sometimes I find myself in terrible situations.
Sometimes I know better.
Sometimes I drink too much.
Sometimes I'm a masochist.
Sometimes I make truly stupid decisions.
And sometimes, despite all that, I find myself with people who will listen to me anyway. And hold my hand and brush the hair out of my eyes and tell me they'll never believe the terrible things they hear about me.
So sometimes, I'm really happy.
Sometimes, I'm one of the luckiest people in the world to have people who love me unconditionally.
Sometimes is now.
Other times, I'm an asshole.
Sometimes I find myself in terrible situations.
Sometimes I know better.
Sometimes I drink too much.
Sometimes I'm a masochist.
Sometimes I make truly stupid decisions.
And sometimes, despite all that, I find myself with people who will listen to me anyway. And hold my hand and brush the hair out of my eyes and tell me they'll never believe the terrible things they hear about me.
So sometimes, I'm really happy.
Sometimes, I'm one of the luckiest people in the world to have people who love me unconditionally.
Sometimes is now.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
trying and failing. Or is it flailing?
"when you're too in love to let it go,
but if you never try, then you'll never know
just what you're worth..."
(Am I worth more than this?)
I sometimes think I'm settling. That all of this yeah-sure-I'm-fine-with-it attitude, where I try to be understanding is really just a load of bullshit. Because right now I'm sitting here alone, wishing I wasn't, and knowing that I can't really be upset because I said I wouldn't be. And I keep my promises. At least I do my damndest to. But it's starting to feel like I've been working at trying to be a better person - really making a conscious effort - and I'm not seeing the results. And I know I'm just saying that right now because I feel hopeless. But this is what happens when plans fall through. I'm not sure why things like this affect me so much. Well, I know why this specific time it's so bad, but in general, plans falling through has always really bothered me and been able to throw me into a funk.
But this time, it's because of the specific circumstances. The fact that I'm leaving in 19 days. And that I haven't seen P since March. And that P is often the only person who fully understands me and doesn't judge me. And of course, all I want at this moment is a hug, to curl up in the basement and watch stupid movies while he runs his hands through my hair, because I can't have that.
I'm becoming very aware of the fact that it's so much worse to miss someone when they're a mile away from you than when they're half a world away. It's worse to not be able to touch them when they're in reach than to accept that it's a physical impossibility to be with them. That, I can accept, because it means there's hope that maybe sometime in the future, being together might be an option. But when we're in the same place and still can't be together - just physically, literally in one another's presence is all I want - I can't help feeling like there's something wrong with me. So I'll settle for putting on P's shirt and pretending it still smells the way I remember P smelling. Disregarding the fact that I've washed it a dozen times since I got it on New Year's.
Which then exacerbates my guilt for realizing how much I need other people. I can't be alone. I need friends, lovers, sex. I sometimes wonder if I am actually a product of these other people... If there's anything original about me. I feel like there might not be.
And I don't think that's a particularly good thing.
but if you never try, then you'll never know
just what you're worth..."
(Am I worth more than this?)
I sometimes think I'm settling. That all of this yeah-sure-I'm-fine-with-it attitude, where I try to be understanding is really just a load of bullshit. Because right now I'm sitting here alone, wishing I wasn't, and knowing that I can't really be upset because I said I wouldn't be. And I keep my promises. At least I do my damndest to. But it's starting to feel like I've been working at trying to be a better person - really making a conscious effort - and I'm not seeing the results. And I know I'm just saying that right now because I feel hopeless. But this is what happens when plans fall through. I'm not sure why things like this affect me so much. Well, I know why this specific time it's so bad, but in general, plans falling through has always really bothered me and been able to throw me into a funk.
But this time, it's because of the specific circumstances. The fact that I'm leaving in 19 days. And that I haven't seen P since March. And that P is often the only person who fully understands me and doesn't judge me. And of course, all I want at this moment is a hug, to curl up in the basement and watch stupid movies while he runs his hands through my hair, because I can't have that.
I'm becoming very aware of the fact that it's so much worse to miss someone when they're a mile away from you than when they're half a world away. It's worse to not be able to touch them when they're in reach than to accept that it's a physical impossibility to be with them. That, I can accept, because it means there's hope that maybe sometime in the future, being together might be an option. But when we're in the same place and still can't be together - just physically, literally in one another's presence is all I want - I can't help feeling like there's something wrong with me. So I'll settle for putting on P's shirt and pretending it still smells the way I remember P smelling. Disregarding the fact that I've washed it a dozen times since I got it on New Year's.
Which then exacerbates my guilt for realizing how much I need other people. I can't be alone. I need friends, lovers, sex. I sometimes wonder if I am actually a product of these other people... If there's anything original about me. I feel like there might not be.
And I don't think that's a particularly good thing.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
the music.
Music has always played a significant part in my life. Both my parents were singers (just in plays, choirs, that sort of thing), and I've grown up singing, although I never was able to really play an instrument. I preferred writing. But I've always appreciated it, and as I've gotten older and more technologically dependent, I now can't imagine a day without music. My iTunes library only boasts about 3500 songs, but I can assure you that I know every word to every one of those songs. Maybe that's why there's no room for other things like, oh, my times tables.
Anyways, on to the point... I've always equated sex with music. And vice-versa. I don't mean this in the I've-seen-too-much-porn-where-every-sex-act-is-accompanied-by-the-bowchikawowow kind of way, but more like I think making sex (I really don't like the term making love... it makes me uncomfortable. Let's not go into what that says about me) is a little like making music. I always prefer to have sex with music in the background. It's like our bodies, and the breathing, and the sound of skin on skin adds a whole new element to the music. And there are definitely certain songs I associate with certain people. Let's run over a list of those. (In no particular order.)
Dirty Little Secret - All-American Rejects (oddly enough, this song never made me feel bad about the brief affair that this was. It still makes me smile)
Konstantine - Something Corporate (Anyone who knows me even the tiniest knows the story behind this song. Needless to say, I don't listen to it much anymore.)
Ruthless - Something Corporate (I know I already have a song by the band on here, but I very distinctly remember listening to this when I was deciding to go to college, which, for me, was in many ways a choice on who I was going to be with. That relationship didn't work out, but this person is still completely pivotal in my life to the point that I couldn't function without them. There's a line here that says "Cause by now/I know you better than yourself/and I know what you really need/or I need/but either way/this is where we should be...") Also, anything by Lacuna Coil reminds me of this person... But that one's obvious.
Narcissus/Hands Clean - Alanis Morisette (This was a long time ago, but the words still ring so true. Ha.)
Fix You - Coldplay (and this one, the memories aren't so pleasant. I mostly remember this song being used as a guilt-trip. On an almost-daily basis.) Also, for this relationship... Poor Little Rich Boy - Regina Spektor. This one's self-explantory. Oh, and Face Down - Red Jumpsuit Apparatus. (Yeah, this was a BAD relationship. Any time I need this much music that's all this depressing to get me through the day, it's no bueno.)
Almost anything by Dispatch (which is funny, because this isn't the person who introduced me to the band, but I distinctly remember driving back from the mountains the first time we kissed and as I was falling asleep in the passenger seat, he put on Dispatch for me. We still text each other whenever we hear it.)
Of All the Gin Joints in all the World - Fall Out Boy ("You only hold me up like this/Cause you don't know who I really am." 'Nuf said.)
Mindless Self Indulgence (I've sworn off this band because the memories attached to it are too strong and it's an incredible trigger for me. This is the downside to being so in tune with music. I remember him putting this on loud enough to drown out my cries for help.)
Say Goodnight and Go - Imogen Heap (for a good friend who I was just friends with for a long time, and we never seem to have feelings for one another at the same time. It's kind of funny, actually.)
Tears and Rain - James Blunt (all of his music reminds me of my time in Seattle, but this song specifically reminds me of something that never happened while I was there. A missed opportunity, we'll call it. That might have been something good.)
How You Remind Me - Nickelback (for my first-ever boyfriend when I was 14. We used to sneak off to the library and as we'd cuddle, we'd listen to this on his laptop. I don't know where he is now.)
And this one is in chronological order...
Bowlegged and Starving - Jay Brannan (for my current situation. Again, it's something that seems like it should make me feel dirty, but everytime I hear it, I can't help but smile. The line, in particular, that says "I'm bowlegged and starving/but walking home happy/let this mark the moment/when I felt freedom ring" strikes a chord. No pun intended.)
Wow. That was an interesting trip down memory lane. And I know that makes it look like all I listen to is Emo, and that I just have generally terrible taste in music (with a few notable exceptions, thank you), but it's the lyric-heavy music I tend to connect with situations. It makes it easier to draw parallels after the experience is over and starting to fade from memory.
And all this leads into something I was actually going to write about in another post: my "number." The person I'm with now asked me about my number the other night. I didn't tell him. I jokingly asked him his, and he told me it was 6. Which I was actually surprised at - I'd expected it to be higher. I've had him up on a pedestal for so long that I assumed everyone sees him like I do and has been as eager to jump into bed with him as I was. Which, maybe they were. If that's the case, then I feel even more special. Heh. I'm going to go ahead and believe that.
BUT. the point is, my number is higher than that. Like, a lot higher. I'm not going to publish it here... partially because I'd need to go back over and update the list. But I think, now knowing his number, I'm glad he doesn't know mine. It does lead me to wonder, though, how much sex is too much sex?
Hmm. Channeling Carrie Bradshaw there. Sorry about that. It's the shoe collection calling my name from the closet. :) OK. I apologize for the absolute randomness of this post. But to wrap it up in the same fashion, and try and tie it all together... here's the first poem I've written in almost a year. So I'm a little rusty. So forgive me.
The silence isn't so oppressive
when I'm with you.
Usually bearing down on me
Too heavy to think
or feel or act
It starts to lift the moment
your lips touch mine.
And as your arms envelop me,
The silence vanishes
Replaced by something unspoken
And bigger than either of us.
The heat between us
begins to buzz.
As out breathing quickens
Creating a frenetic baseline.
Our bodies, slick and sticky with desire
Move against in unison
And I am so lucidly aware
of every sensation in my body
I realize I can't feel the silence.
Instead I listen to the the
rhythm of our breath
The melody of our bodies
And the harmony of the lust
Searing between us
As we go harder faster longer
We've created a symphony
And the music is tangible
A soundtrack to us
Our lives, our passion.
And as it builds to a crescendo
It gets louder
harder, faster, more urgent
Until it reaches that moment
When every instrument plays
In some massive
harmonious
dischord
Where no single note is discernible
So like our bodies.
And then
The music slows
And the silence quietly
Makes its way back into the air
But it's lost some of its power
And the weight it had
to crush me
Is infinitely lighter
Unable to compare
to the music we make together.
(yeah, I've never been a strong writer when I'm happy. So it goes.)
Anyways, on to the point... I've always equated sex with music. And vice-versa. I don't mean this in the I've-seen-too-much-porn-where-every-sex-act-is-accompanied-by-the-bowchikawowow kind of way, but more like I think making sex (I really don't like the term making love... it makes me uncomfortable. Let's not go into what that says about me) is a little like making music. I always prefer to have sex with music in the background. It's like our bodies, and the breathing, and the sound of skin on skin adds a whole new element to the music. And there are definitely certain songs I associate with certain people. Let's run over a list of those. (In no particular order.)
Dirty Little Secret - All-American Rejects (oddly enough, this song never made me feel bad about the brief affair that this was. It still makes me smile)
Konstantine - Something Corporate (Anyone who knows me even the tiniest knows the story behind this song. Needless to say, I don't listen to it much anymore.)
Ruthless - Something Corporate (I know I already have a song by the band on here, but I very distinctly remember listening to this when I was deciding to go to college, which, for me, was in many ways a choice on who I was going to be with. That relationship didn't work out, but this person is still completely pivotal in my life to the point that I couldn't function without them. There's a line here that says "Cause by now/I know you better than yourself/and I know what you really need/or I need/but either way/this is where we should be...") Also, anything by Lacuna Coil reminds me of this person... But that one's obvious.
Narcissus/Hands Clean - Alanis Morisette (This was a long time ago, but the words still ring so true. Ha.)
Fix You - Coldplay (and this one, the memories aren't so pleasant. I mostly remember this song being used as a guilt-trip. On an almost-daily basis.) Also, for this relationship... Poor Little Rich Boy - Regina Spektor. This one's self-explantory. Oh, and Face Down - Red Jumpsuit Apparatus. (Yeah, this was a BAD relationship. Any time I need this much music that's all this depressing to get me through the day, it's no bueno.)
Almost anything by Dispatch (which is funny, because this isn't the person who introduced me to the band, but I distinctly remember driving back from the mountains the first time we kissed and as I was falling asleep in the passenger seat, he put on Dispatch for me. We still text each other whenever we hear it.)
Of All the Gin Joints in all the World - Fall Out Boy ("You only hold me up like this/Cause you don't know who I really am." 'Nuf said.)
Mindless Self Indulgence (I've sworn off this band because the memories attached to it are too strong and it's an incredible trigger for me. This is the downside to being so in tune with music. I remember him putting this on loud enough to drown out my cries for help.)
Say Goodnight and Go - Imogen Heap (for a good friend who I was just friends with for a long time, and we never seem to have feelings for one another at the same time. It's kind of funny, actually.)
Tears and Rain - James Blunt (all of his music reminds me of my time in Seattle, but this song specifically reminds me of something that never happened while I was there. A missed opportunity, we'll call it. That might have been something good.)
How You Remind Me - Nickelback (for my first-ever boyfriend when I was 14. We used to sneak off to the library and as we'd cuddle, we'd listen to this on his laptop. I don't know where he is now.)
And this one is in chronological order...
Bowlegged and Starving - Jay Brannan (for my current situation. Again, it's something that seems like it should make me feel dirty, but everytime I hear it, I can't help but smile. The line, in particular, that says "I'm bowlegged and starving/but walking home happy/let this mark the moment/when I felt freedom ring" strikes a chord. No pun intended.)
Wow. That was an interesting trip down memory lane. And I know that makes it look like all I listen to is Emo, and that I just have generally terrible taste in music (with a few notable exceptions, thank you), but it's the lyric-heavy music I tend to connect with situations. It makes it easier to draw parallels after the experience is over and starting to fade from memory.
And all this leads into something I was actually going to write about in another post: my "number." The person I'm with now asked me about my number the other night. I didn't tell him. I jokingly asked him his, and he told me it was 6. Which I was actually surprised at - I'd expected it to be higher. I've had him up on a pedestal for so long that I assumed everyone sees him like I do and has been as eager to jump into bed with him as I was. Which, maybe they were. If that's the case, then I feel even more special. Heh. I'm going to go ahead and believe that.
BUT. the point is, my number is higher than that. Like, a lot higher. I'm not going to publish it here... partially because I'd need to go back over and update the list. But I think, now knowing his number, I'm glad he doesn't know mine. It does lead me to wonder, though, how much sex is too much sex?
Hmm. Channeling Carrie Bradshaw there. Sorry about that. It's the shoe collection calling my name from the closet. :) OK. I apologize for the absolute randomness of this post. But to wrap it up in the same fashion, and try and tie it all together... here's the first poem I've written in almost a year. So I'm a little rusty. So forgive me.
The silence isn't so oppressive
when I'm with you.
Usually bearing down on me
Too heavy to think
or feel or act
It starts to lift the moment
your lips touch mine.
And as your arms envelop me,
The silence vanishes
Replaced by something unspoken
And bigger than either of us.
The heat between us
begins to buzz.
As out breathing quickens
Creating a frenetic baseline.
Our bodies, slick and sticky with desire
Move against in unison
And I am so lucidly aware
of every sensation in my body
I realize I can't feel the silence.
Instead I listen to the the
rhythm of our breath
The melody of our bodies
And the harmony of the lust
Searing between us
As we go harder faster longer
We've created a symphony
And the music is tangible
A soundtrack to us
Our lives, our passion.
And as it builds to a crescendo
It gets louder
harder, faster, more urgent
Until it reaches that moment
When every instrument plays
In some massive
harmonious
dischord
Where no single note is discernible
So like our bodies.
And then
The music slows
And the silence quietly
Makes its way back into the air
But it's lost some of its power
And the weight it had
to crush me
Is infinitely lighter
Unable to compare
to the music we make together.
(yeah, I've never been a strong writer when I'm happy. So it goes.)
Friday, February 29, 2008
"you do this thing..."
"... with your eyes..."
What do you mean?
"It's just.. you stare at me. Like through me. It's really intense."
Oh, I'm sorry.
"No, I love it."
And with those few words my mind is sent racing back to the night before. How she was mad at me for taking too long getting ready. And how glad I was to see you at dinner. Wearing a hat pulled down over your still-long hair and cocked over one eye so I could just catch a glimpse of that rich brown with the fire behind it as you looked me up and down walking in the door. I said I was dressed up for the holiday, you knew better. You knew it was for you. The dark jeans, flared at the bottom and hugging my ass at the top, my favorite purple and grey high heels, the brand new silver halter top with a neckline cut down to there. You give me a half smile from beneath your hat and I forget everyone else in the crowded restaurant.
Until you look away and I remember we're out with friends and that means we have to be discreet. Because you say so. Still, as I slide into the corner seat on the booth, you quickly take the spot next to me. You fumble with your jacket and look at me and I smile, of course I'll take it. Our friends order drinks. You don't because you don't drink and I don't because I don't have anything that says I'm of age. So we order dinner and it takes a while but the waiter is quick with our drinks. We all laugh and my fears that this group would be awkward dissolve as everyone settles in for dinner. There are a few moments where I let my hand drop to the booth and brush your knee, knowing you can't help but flinch. You swat my hand away.
I go back to flirting with the person across the table.You notice. Especially when I reach across and say "oh, for that you owe me some of that mojito!" and there's no protest as we linger just a split second too long for comfort.
She's not mad at me anymore and asks me to join her for a cigarette. I don't realize we're going outside so I don't grab my coat and when I ask you to pass me mine, you hand me yours. There's another splitsecond moment where your hands touch mine and you flash me just the hint of a smile and I'm sure my cheeks flush. I slip my arms through the sleeves and pull the sides tight around me, happy to be enveloped in your warmth and the scent of you while we are out in the open.
Flash forward two hours and we're sitting on a couch, closer than we need to be, since the group has thinned to just five of us. But still, now in this more relaxed place, while the rest of us are drinking - and you're sipping the sparkling cider we got you - your hand goes to the small of my back just to remind me you're there. As if I could forget.
We play cards and we all laugh at the half-and-more naked men pictured there. Then suddenly, there are three minutes left. We all have champagne and someone suggests we go each say what we have planned. He says he's going to focus on his music. He says he's going to get all A's. She says she's going to get into business school. I say I'm going to finally get that job at the magazine. We come to you and you say you're going to stop dating crazy people and find someone who makes you happy. We all pause for just a moment. Then we cheer and I yell hell yeah! and you smile and... take a sip of my champagne. Which makes us cheer louder. And you smile broader. You seem happy and that makes me even happier.
Then it's 10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1!!!
We all yell and clink out glasses and I look to you and wonder if you're...
before I can finish thinking it, you pull me in and kiss me and I'm shocked realizing you just did that and there were people standing right next to us. And then I can't stop smiling. You look pleased with yourself.
You're driving me back to your house which is beautiful and not really your space but I love when we have it to ourselves because you're different when it's just us. You start kissing me in the kitchen and I throw my arms around your neck and the only thing I can focus on is your lips on mine, your hands around my waist, cradling my face, taking my hands and leading me upstairs.
The next several hours are a blur, but at the same time crystal clear. I don't remember who undressed whom first, but I remember you approaching me, kissing me hard and pinning me to your bed. I remember kissing back fervently, needing you because I'd been out of your arms, your bed, your life, for too long. I remember you leaning over me, pinning my hands above my head and smiling as I pretend I want to get away. And burying your face in my neck and licking the sweat just starting to form on my collarbone, my chest, my hips. I remember your gasps and every sound you made when I bit down hard like I know you like. I don't remember what you were doing when I dug my nails into your back, but I remember the flash of heat, passion, in your eyes when I did so.
And maybe that's why you remember my eyes. I couldn't take them off you. Intense? I suppose. I remember moments when all I could do was look at you, really see you, and everything I know about you, everything you know about me, everything we have been and everything we will be, was all there in your eyes. I can't describe it well enough or even start to do it justice but know that those moments are my most vivid memories of any from my somewhat recent past. They aren't fading with time.
And, truth be told, I'm counting the days until I see you again. Your smile. Your eyes. Your bed. You.
What do you mean?
"It's just.. you stare at me. Like through me. It's really intense."
Oh, I'm sorry.
"No, I love it."
And with those few words my mind is sent racing back to the night before. How she was mad at me for taking too long getting ready. And how glad I was to see you at dinner. Wearing a hat pulled down over your still-long hair and cocked over one eye so I could just catch a glimpse of that rich brown with the fire behind it as you looked me up and down walking in the door. I said I was dressed up for the holiday, you knew better. You knew it was for you. The dark jeans, flared at the bottom and hugging my ass at the top, my favorite purple and grey high heels, the brand new silver halter top with a neckline cut down to there. You give me a half smile from beneath your hat and I forget everyone else in the crowded restaurant.
Until you look away and I remember we're out with friends and that means we have to be discreet. Because you say so. Still, as I slide into the corner seat on the booth, you quickly take the spot next to me. You fumble with your jacket and look at me and I smile, of course I'll take it. Our friends order drinks. You don't because you don't drink and I don't because I don't have anything that says I'm of age. So we order dinner and it takes a while but the waiter is quick with our drinks. We all laugh and my fears that this group would be awkward dissolve as everyone settles in for dinner. There are a few moments where I let my hand drop to the booth and brush your knee, knowing you can't help but flinch. You swat my hand away.
I go back to flirting with the person across the table.You notice. Especially when I reach across and say "oh, for that you owe me some of that mojito!" and there's no protest as we linger just a split second too long for comfort.
She's not mad at me anymore and asks me to join her for a cigarette. I don't realize we're going outside so I don't grab my coat and when I ask you to pass me mine, you hand me yours. There's another splitsecond moment where your hands touch mine and you flash me just the hint of a smile and I'm sure my cheeks flush. I slip my arms through the sleeves and pull the sides tight around me, happy to be enveloped in your warmth and the scent of you while we are out in the open.
Flash forward two hours and we're sitting on a couch, closer than we need to be, since the group has thinned to just five of us. But still, now in this more relaxed place, while the rest of us are drinking - and you're sipping the sparkling cider we got you - your hand goes to the small of my back just to remind me you're there. As if I could forget.
We play cards and we all laugh at the half-and-more naked men pictured there. Then suddenly, there are three minutes left. We all have champagne and someone suggests we go each say what we have planned. He says he's going to focus on his music. He says he's going to get all A's. She says she's going to get into business school. I say I'm going to finally get that job at the magazine. We come to you and you say you're going to stop dating crazy people and find someone who makes you happy. We all pause for just a moment. Then we cheer and I yell hell yeah! and you smile and... take a sip of my champagne. Which makes us cheer louder. And you smile broader. You seem happy and that makes me even happier.
Then it's 10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1!!!
We all yell and clink out glasses and I look to you and wonder if you're...
before I can finish thinking it, you pull me in and kiss me and I'm shocked realizing you just did that and there were people standing right next to us. And then I can't stop smiling. You look pleased with yourself.
You're driving me back to your house which is beautiful and not really your space but I love when we have it to ourselves because you're different when it's just us. You start kissing me in the kitchen and I throw my arms around your neck and the only thing I can focus on is your lips on mine, your hands around my waist, cradling my face, taking my hands and leading me upstairs.
The next several hours are a blur, but at the same time crystal clear. I don't remember who undressed whom first, but I remember you approaching me, kissing me hard and pinning me to your bed. I remember kissing back fervently, needing you because I'd been out of your arms, your bed, your life, for too long. I remember you leaning over me, pinning my hands above my head and smiling as I pretend I want to get away. And burying your face in my neck and licking the sweat just starting to form on my collarbone, my chest, my hips. I remember your gasps and every sound you made when I bit down hard like I know you like. I don't remember what you were doing when I dug my nails into your back, but I remember the flash of heat, passion, in your eyes when I did so.
And maybe that's why you remember my eyes. I couldn't take them off you. Intense? I suppose. I remember moments when all I could do was look at you, really see you, and everything I know about you, everything you know about me, everything we have been and everything we will be, was all there in your eyes. I can't describe it well enough or even start to do it justice but know that those moments are my most vivid memories of any from my somewhat recent past. They aren't fading with time.
And, truth be told, I'm counting the days until I see you again. Your smile. Your eyes. Your bed. You.
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