Jan 16, 2006 20:52
when he stands up and is tall, when i hug him and he fits into the arc of my hug like a slice of melon back into the melon.
when i stand back to see how tall and brown and wild he is, i hurt. i don't understand why.
someday i will be old (if i'm lucky) and there i'll be, alone in the world and living on the edge or on the street, wishing i hadn't wasted my entire life chasing around trying to commit impossible affairs. what will he matter then? and it will be too late.
what a drink of elixir it is just to talk and look at him. he hovers, dark and tired, GREEN oh green eyes, i taste mint and meat, i want this. don't I? i want it, yes.
he said something while we were painting, about how i never sleep, i felt so guilty, stupid, and false. of course i sleep, i sleep more than is good for me, and sit or lie with my eyes shut whenever i can, doing nothing, going back in time. how can he believe good of me? but i won't help him understand the truth, thereby admiring me less. but i am living a lie. i am living many lies.
drink Scotch. broke. blotchy, spotty, stubbly, and pudgy. i just don't have any Care left after Caring about him.