letter to a friend
so, last night i had an experience that gave me cause to be reflective about what it was like the first few times we hung out. what i remember about it is that i was nervous and self-conscious but i wasn't ever afraid. and last night i was afraid.
it's really hard to write to you now, you know.
anyway, it made me wanna say thank you to you, because i wasn't ever afraid, at least at first, to be intimate with you, whatever that might have meant. i wasn't afraid of physical intimacy or emotional intimacy or spiritual intimacy. and i'm afraid of all of those things right now. i guess it made me appreciate much more how easy it was just to be with you. so, thank you.
intimacy of any sort is just such a fucked up topic in my head and i'd rather not think about it at all, especially if i'm having issues with it. i can't make sense of it, you know, making love to someone as a form of intimacy versus killing someone as a form of intimacy. because, inside me, they end up in the same place. and it's fucked up and hard to have that deep of a place inside myself polluted with someone's death. does that make any sense? it's something pure and beautiful poisoned with something really ugly and in some ways the ugliness runs deeper than any sort of love-making i've ever done. how do i make it pure again? i guess i have to reframe the death, make it not-so-ugly, make it something beautiful, albeit a different sort of beauty, just like making love. i dunno.
god, *******, why would i ever wanna have sex again? seriously. who needs all these damn thoughts?!
it's really hard to write to you now, you know.
anyway, it made me wanna say thank you to you, because i wasn't ever afraid, at least at first, to be intimate with you, whatever that might have meant. i wasn't afraid of physical intimacy or emotional intimacy or spiritual intimacy. and i'm afraid of all of those things right now. i guess it made me appreciate much more how easy it was just to be with you. so, thank you.
intimacy of any sort is just such a fucked up topic in my head and i'd rather not think about it at all, especially if i'm having issues with it. i can't make sense of it, you know, making love to someone as a form of intimacy versus killing someone as a form of intimacy. because, inside me, they end up in the same place. and it's fucked up and hard to have that deep of a place inside myself polluted with someone's death. does that make any sense? it's something pure and beautiful poisoned with something really ugly and in some ways the ugliness runs deeper than any sort of love-making i've ever done. how do i make it pure again? i guess i have to reframe the death, make it not-so-ugly, make it something beautiful, albeit a different sort of beauty, just like making love. i dunno.
god, *******, why would i ever wanna have sex again? seriously. who needs all these damn thoughts?!