Manette

[palpohedre]

That philosopher writes to me, aching for a holiday, and my door is always open to him.

So often I find these men who are like stars in my blanket. I wish I was in love. It makes me wonder if I can ever love men, if I turn these down. I am afraid of them. I must be.

And sometimes I wonder if it is that they are men, that I hold them off.