like waking up without a sound / i map the words out / maybe you will say them
Because ticketsonmyself requested more life posts: of love and momentum.
I've been thinking, lately. I have this friend, yeah? As my friendships usually go, we've been drifting: apart and together, apart and together, like the ocean pulled by the moon, finding seashells in our wake. We've known each other since first grade; we have a history. These past two years, a lot has happened - she dated, broke up, came out, dated again, came to me after every ending, every heartbreak (of which she has a lot). I fell in love, came out, got rejected, dated / became a beard for my gay best friend, and went to her for advice. We've seen each other naked and talked about sex and even though I'm sixteen and she's seventeen, we still have sleepovers, in which we usually end up in the same bed.* And there's something there, I could feel it, like walking down a trail and knowing where you were heading, knowing that you weren't there yet, but you would get there in time. A quiet, idle sort of momentum.
At the same time, another side of me protested, because I didn't really want there to be anything there. I'm so, so tired of being the gay friend - of having to put up with the jokes and the stereotypes, a friend shuddering when she says the word "lesbian" and having to smile and laugh along with it, of listening to my girls swoon over Orlando Bloom and being expected to voice my own dry opinion over him and nothing about anyone I would be attracted to, because (some of) my friends know that I swing differently but it's like taboo topic, like if they don't talk about it than it won't be true, and I'm so sick of being regaled to asexual. Worse, now everyone thinks I'm such a negative, unromantic person because I won't go on about some guy's glistening pectorals, even though that's not who I am. I love my friends but I've just had enough of that shit, okay? So, it was so brilliant to have a friend that I didn't have to put on acts for, someone who didn't treat me like some highly experimental life form. And even though I know I'm her type, physically, she's not really mine, so I thought, okay, there's the end of it. Besides, boys and girls can be friends, two bent girls shouldn't have to be any different. I don't want to fall for anyone that crosses my path - I wanted to choose, I didn't want my sexuality to choose for me.
But it was fine, for a time, because I was safe. Sure, she may have mentioned dating once or twice, and that I was her type, but really, she had such awful relationships that it wasn't exactly a compliment, and we both knew it. I didn't want to face what was happening. I was fine. And then, on my birthday, coming home on the metro, she asks me out. It was like falling into a hole - I had to have her repeat it a few times just to understand. I had been walking and walking and now here we are, at where we've been going, and something's pulling me to her even stronger.
I've said no, so far - gently, I hope, but we knew I didn't want to deal with any of this. Now I feel so odd, because this is two years ago all over again, except instead of being the one who asks I'm the one who's saying no. And it still doesn't feel like we're done walking. Doesn't feel finished. If the world is only a stage, I feel like I'm acting out the same script over again, and the only difference are the players.
Does love come first, or does attraction? If I say no now, will I say yes later?
In, out. In, out. I can't tell whether the tide's coming or going.
Vienna Teng : Momentum.
*The romantic side of me would like to say we woke up tangled around each other, but so far the only thing that's gotten tangled up were the bedsheets around my face.
I've been thinking, lately. I have this friend, yeah? As my friendships usually go, we've been drifting: apart and together, apart and together, like the ocean pulled by the moon, finding seashells in our wake. We've known each other since first grade; we have a history. These past two years, a lot has happened - she dated, broke up, came out, dated again, came to me after every ending, every heartbreak (of which she has a lot). I fell in love, came out, got rejected, dated / became a beard for my gay best friend, and went to her for advice. We've seen each other naked and talked about sex and even though I'm sixteen and she's seventeen, we still have sleepovers, in which we usually end up in the same bed.* And there's something there, I could feel it, like walking down a trail and knowing where you were heading, knowing that you weren't there yet, but you would get there in time. A quiet, idle sort of momentum.
At the same time, another side of me protested, because I didn't really want there to be anything there. I'm so, so tired of being the gay friend - of having to put up with the jokes and the stereotypes, a friend shuddering when she says the word "lesbian" and having to smile and laugh along with it, of listening to my girls swoon over Orlando Bloom and being expected to voice my own dry opinion over him and nothing about anyone I would be attracted to, because (some of) my friends know that I swing differently but it's like taboo topic, like if they don't talk about it than it won't be true, and I'm so sick of being regaled to asexual. Worse, now everyone thinks I'm such a negative, unromantic person because I won't go on about some guy's glistening pectorals, even though that's not who I am. I love my friends but I've just had enough of that shit, okay? So, it was so brilliant to have a friend that I didn't have to put on acts for, someone who didn't treat me like some highly experimental life form. And even though I know I'm her type, physically, she's not really mine, so I thought, okay, there's the end of it. Besides, boys and girls can be friends, two bent girls shouldn't have to be any different. I don't want to fall for anyone that crosses my path - I wanted to choose, I didn't want my sexuality to choose for me.
But it was fine, for a time, because I was safe. Sure, she may have mentioned dating once or twice, and that I was her type, but really, she had such awful relationships that it wasn't exactly a compliment, and we both knew it. I didn't want to face what was happening. I was fine. And then, on my birthday, coming home on the metro, she asks me out. It was like falling into a hole - I had to have her repeat it a few times just to understand. I had been walking and walking and now here we are, at where we've been going, and something's pulling me to her even stronger.
I've said no, so far - gently, I hope, but we knew I didn't want to deal with any of this. Now I feel so odd, because this is two years ago all over again, except instead of being the one who asks I'm the one who's saying no. And it still doesn't feel like we're done walking. Doesn't feel finished. If the world is only a stage, I feel like I'm acting out the same script over again, and the only difference are the players.
Does love come first, or does attraction? If I say no now, will I say yes later?
In, out. In, out. I can't tell whether the tide's coming or going.
Vienna Teng : Momentum.
*The romantic side of me would like to say we woke up tangled around each other, but so far the only thing that's gotten tangled up were the bedsheets around my face.