hrm

there are experiences that are so precious, talking about them deflates the magic. or it’s my terror that this little bit of cloud i’ve collected in a bell jar would evaporate when i start to share it with the world.
a thousand things swimming through my head, a million answers to a million previously unanswerable questions. in meeting him, in that first evening over thai, then over billiards and Sinatra and led zeppelin, capped with a wool fedora, a warm breeze began to blow in my world. sealed with a delightfully tender bunch of kisses, there was nothing left to be done, save breathe.
i’ve been waiting for this for a long time, and the plague of self-doubting locusts in my head decry it as inorganic for having been wanted. is food less nourishing if we ask to be fed? is a jewel less brilliant if we choose it ourselves? is a man less perfect if i asked for someone kind and caring, smart and stylish, and a thousand other adjectives i didn’t know could fit into one human being alone. and yet.
never having done this in this capacity before, i understand the value of being much more forgiving of myself should i make a mistake. hell, what do i know? i want to show up and do the best i can, just like anyone else. it occurs to me that no one else knows what to do, either, we all just make the best decisions we can with the evidence at hand. i suppose the only wrong thing to do would be assume there is nothing special in this one, no reason to treat him like the rosetta stone he is, toss it away like yesterday’s times. in fact, the exact opposite is true. the feeling sits in my gut and swirls around in my head and makes me smile and keeps me focused on the decisions at hand.
i haven’t lost faith that love is what it’s all about. i think that is what fleshes out group a from group b. having once been a card-carrying member of group b, scaling the fence and looking back makes me sad for those who still look at it as an unnecessary exercise in being vulnerable and scared, less attractive by way of being human. having hurt once, or a thousand times, they give up. god save me, i don’t want to ever return to that.

and a thousand other things i can’t begin to tell you about.