v u l v a l i c i o u s Fictive identity 2003-02-03 // 12:15 a.m. I saw her car and my heart jumped up and down like a five year old in the toy aisle at a drugstore. Joy and elation over something ridiculous. My feet started saying her name as I walked to my apartment, two simple syllables repeated over and over by my footsteps. I remembered my old anthem of days gone by, a Dar Williams song with all the pain of someone who loves unrequitedly, and I listened to it on repeat, wondering if I felt the same--unrequited--and if she felt the same--enjoying me. I let the words wash over me until I was gripping my papers tight tighter tightest, and I was set back three years, to lost girls and warm baths. Sometimes I wonder if this diary is about sex or poetry. Cocks and cunts and fucking or hands and mouths and oaths. Really, I think it's both. It's something I'm not. It's something I've never been. Sometimes, I feel like a liar. back-forth