girlcrushes & boyloves, time going full circle
It seems such a ludicrous thing to bear such an impact on a day that was overflowing with impact by nature, and it's so absurd to feel like this is such a powerful, emotional, shocking-sweet revelation that no one's chest can contain it. I almost feel half-bad that this excites me more than so many more meaningful moments, and it's inexplicable why I have this full-ribbed need for release. The way you feel when something massive happens and you aren't supposed to tell anyone. The kind of thing that's only released once you do share. The kind of thing that could only be shared with someone that fully appreciates the significance--this feeling can only be cured by validation from people that would remember, would understand what it meant. All these are processes I am familiar with. The reason that this event is so jarring is because it doesn't follow these rules--as much as I share, I tell everyone, even people that remember the old days, stories about observing a cute girl from afar, making up stories about her, wishing for names, writing songs for this Weetzie-Batian dramatization of someone I was completely intoxicated by.
Everyone from those days can remember hearing me tell all these stories, our first contact, that brilliant-convulsive day when I finally learned her name. And yes, I would say I had a lot of crushes. I can be attracted to a lot of girls, a lot of boys. But this was real fascination, honest captivation, a crush-crush and not just a crush. A girlcrush. So that's what I called her. And then I found out that she really did like girls, and her name was what I imagined it would be, and she smoked cigarettes the way I wrote that she did. But she liked girls. And started looking at me more. Things are always scarier and more difficult to be cute about when they are so close to your fingertips. Sure, I could joke about my crush on, say, Thiago. And how I wanted to sleep with him ("If he can make fusion in the basement, imagine what he could do in the bedroom!" har har). It's easy to be cute about something that isn't feasible or something that you wouldn't really want if you were granted the chance. But when it becomes so real, it makes you nervous, it makes it harder to look them in the eye and flirt. From then I pushed it inward and it became my secret sparkling fantasy world, and from there almost a fiction novel in itself. I knew we barely talked, how could she care more for me than all the compliments she'd give me on my outfits? That was all it was. And yet, here we are, two years later and I found out that she did the same things with me. I wonder if she knew my name the whole time. I wonder if she bit her tongue the way I did. Most of all, I wonder why no matter how many people I tell, I still can't get the weight of this thrill off of my chest.
In other news related to my hyperemotion-superinspiration, as I'm sure many of you know, I haven't written in Livejournal since...well, before Europe at least. The last attempt I made was in the middle of the night, at A's house, with him sleeping as I typed. I was bursting-inspired, but I could tell the typing was disturbing his slumber, so I just closed the window, unsaved. I hadn't opened a "post an entry" window until now, and upon doing so was prompted to open an auto-saved draft. It was written around July 1st and promptly forgotten, until now. I'd like to share it with you, I'm quite fond of it.
"I've become something of an insomniac at A's house. I watch him sleep in his bed, occasional kisses, do nothings and text-twist, organize music and peruse his books, get giddy at the sunrise but nostalgic right before. I always feel like writing at about 4-5 am. Sparkling pomegranate and chocolate covered cherries, I'm in love and I will never sleep. But I love sleeping boys--they're even more like babies than usual. I love it all in spite of everything.
I love being alone with him next to me."