Who is this?: an update [backdated to just after the Masque]
Gods, I am weary of confusion.
[Private]
Myron has been visiting for tea on and off over the past few weeks. I am still at a loss for what it is this is...no, that's a lie. He's certainly made it clear what he wishes.
It's me that's stuck in psychological limbo. Glad I could drag this perfect kind man down into the frozen muck with me. Well done, Deirdre.
You see, the last time I tried my hand this (at uni--has it really been that long?), things were decidedly...messy. Dating. Lord, is that what it's called? It feels so much more severe than that, and nothing's even happened! It's as though I'm teetering on the brink of a free-fall with my heart choking my brain and tears whistling behind my retinas. Like I'm a glass ballerina about to shatter in an unsightly way under the pressure. I don't want that. I've been so very good at keeping those upsettingly gushy parts of life under lock and key for the past decade. And then the Masque came, and I wasn't intelligent enough to say no. But oh, the night was like a blanket of velvet studded with stars, with that hand on my waist like never before
Sleeping with them is easier. No strings. Nothing attached to my soul.
Perhaps it's better that he disappeared. Before, it was as though I was in a trance. I might have completely lost control if he hadn't cut me off. Gods, I was like a junkie, and I hadn't even had a taste! Even now, it takes everything I have to hold back when he appears on my doorstep. I want to touch his fingers, his face, his scalp; every pale centimetre mine slowly reverently desperately held. I want to be touched. No, nothing so vulgar as that; but moreso. Now I am calm, without need. Aloof? Maybe. Maybe too much.
But then, that's nothing new, and there's something comforting in the retreat, cruel as it may be to us both.
[/Private to Self]
[Private to Myron]
Thank you for taking me to the Twelfth Night celebration. I never would have gone, otherwise, and it was unexpectedly enjoyable. And then some. Who knew running about with elegant masques could be so much fun?
Your costume was magnificent. I can't believe we'd danced so little together until that night.
Your friend,
Deirdre
[/Private to Myron]
[Private]
Myron has been visiting for tea on and off over the past few weeks. I am still at a loss for what it is this is...no, that's a lie. He's certainly made it clear what he wishes.
It's me that's stuck in psychological limbo. Glad I could drag this perfect kind man down into the frozen muck with me. Well done, Deirdre.
You see, the last time I tried my hand this (at uni--has it really been that long?), things were decidedly...messy. Dating. Lord, is that what it's called? It feels so much more severe than that, and nothing's even happened! It's as though I'm teetering on the brink of a free-fall with my heart choking my brain and tears whistling behind my retinas. Like I'm a glass ballerina about to shatter in an unsightly way under the pressure. I don't want that. I've been so very good at keeping those upsettingly gushy parts of life under lock and key for the past decade. And then the Masque came, and I wasn't intelligent enough to say no. But oh, the night was like a blanket of velvet studded with stars, with that hand on my waist like never before
Sleeping with them is easier. No strings. Nothing attached to my soul.
Perhaps it's better that he disappeared. Before, it was as though I was in a trance. I might have completely lost control if he hadn't cut me off. Gods, I was like a junkie, and I hadn't even had a taste! Even now, it takes everything I have to hold back when he appears on my doorstep. I want to touch his fingers, his face, his scalp; every pale centimetre mine slowly reverently desperately held. I want to be touched. No, nothing so vulgar as that; but moreso. Now I am calm, without need. Aloof? Maybe. Maybe too much.
But then, that's nothing new, and there's something comforting in the retreat, cruel as it may be to us both.
[/Private to Self]
[Private to Myron]
Thank you for taking me to the Twelfth Night celebration. I never would have gone, otherwise, and it was unexpectedly enjoyable. And then some. Who knew running about with elegant masques could be so much fun?
Your costume was magnificent. I can't believe we'd danced so little together until that night.
Your friend,
Deirdre
[/Private to Myron]