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v u l v a l i c i o u s It would be simple, if it weren't so complex I sometimes feel as though my friend connections are too strong. I write letters containing flowery prose that proclaims my undying love; I write this to my best friends. They are my perfect relationship. The two of them, already a complete couple, a working unit, seem like a ready-made family. No extra searching and no confusing courtship rituals. For some reason, it feels as though we never had to look for each other. I came along, and there they were. It was supposed to happen--the big boom of destiny knocking me into joyful oblivion. There is no ambiguity with them. I know. They know. Together, we can all sit silently and understand what we're saying, thinking, dreaming about. It's a perfect relationship, with me as the undersexed third. I want to live with them in a large house with hard wood floors and a friendly dog in the backyard. A wide-open feminist political art space where the kitchen is the backdrop for food smells and radical conversation, and people come through practically unannounced to stay one night or seven, depending on the mood of the place. A living room with a tv hidden inside a cabinet and pushed to the side, with the couches arranged in a manner conducive to conversation. It would be the three of us, together, thinking and laughing. When I think of this, I feel as though it would substitute for the touch of a lover-hand on my lower back or the occassional bed-visit of a benefit friend. It wouldn't, maybe, but it could. I dream of living independently with the two people I love best. I am lightly tethered as by very thin string to these people, my dear and loving grrls. They are comfort right now. And I want them here. |