(no subject)
This morning I bought a copy of "The Fountainhead" on his recommendation. He told me, last night while we were tangled with one another, that he considered it one of his favorites.
Whatever this strange courtship is started so suddenly that it caught me completely off guard, left me stranded with an intense feeling of longing that comes from deep within, from the depths of myself. The first night was blurred by intoxication- all arms and legs and the feeling of someone else's skin next to my own. Hearing his heart beating, feeling his lungs expand as he slept next to me.
As we began to know one another; through our chosen words, through our hands mapping the other's shape, I felt something fragile awaken just below the surface. My fractured heart, this deep wound, wants to heal.
C. calls me from Toronto. C. calls me in the middle of the night. C. says he can't explain how broken his heart is. C. says he wants me back. C. says all he loves is me. C. says he is going to stop contacting me. C. says he knows I am over him. C. says he is sorry. C. says all of the things he was supposed to say, all too late. C. says everything that undoes my ability to hold these walls steady, to keep the soft, velvety parts safe from harm. He keeps talking until I say, "I have to go. I am hanging up now. Goodbye." And even then, he says all of the right things.
Body stale from a week of hard work. Mind muddled. It's a Friday night and I'm sobering up, trying to rationalize what it means to move on.
Whatever this strange courtship is started so suddenly that it caught me completely off guard, left me stranded with an intense feeling of longing that comes from deep within, from the depths of myself. The first night was blurred by intoxication- all arms and legs and the feeling of someone else's skin next to my own. Hearing his heart beating, feeling his lungs expand as he slept next to me.
As we began to know one another; through our chosen words, through our hands mapping the other's shape, I felt something fragile awaken just below the surface. My fractured heart, this deep wound, wants to heal.
C. calls me from Toronto. C. calls me in the middle of the night. C. says he can't explain how broken his heart is. C. says he wants me back. C. says all he loves is me. C. says he is going to stop contacting me. C. says he knows I am over him. C. says he is sorry. C. says all of the things he was supposed to say, all too late. C. says everything that undoes my ability to hold these walls steady, to keep the soft, velvety parts safe from harm. He keeps talking until I say, "I have to go. I am hanging up now. Goodbye." And even then, he says all of the right things.
Body stale from a week of hard work. Mind muddled. It's a Friday night and I'm sobering up, trying to rationalize what it means to move on.