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v u l v a l i c i o u s

You Left Out
2004-11-08 // 1:32 a.m.

Somewhere along the line, I got good at knowing how to talk and listen. How to pull things out of people. I learned the actual importance of the phrase "so what I hear you saying is" and when it might be appropriate to use it.

But there's this moment after you've done all your work where you want to collapse. Or rather, there was a moment (two, actually) in the bathroom where I wanted to cry into my reflection. Where I bit down on the towel before walking back out to her. I explained as I took my socks off: "My feet are cold, and I think the socks are standing in the way of the blankets." What I meant was, "don't worry, I won't try to stay tonight."

On the train home, I felt the Voice closing in on me. It grabbed in all the right places. It doesn't pay to be a slut. Of course she'd choose someone else; you were just the sidebar, like always. You want to much, anyway. Who would want you? Yeah. Yeah.

I stopped listening. I got home and called a kind boy who grounded me. I reminded myself that I don't believe what the voice has to tell me. In my mind, I re-read A Wrinkle In Time, the scene where Meg defeats IT with love and brings Charles Wallace back to life. I started feeling really, honestly ok.

I'm sad but not crying. I'm not angry so much as I'm confused. I know a good thing when I taste it, and this was a good thing. I put in Mirah on tape and tried to find the song with the words "pull a feather from the nest, fasten it to your chest." I couldn't, but stopped on "Recommendations" and felt better for the listening. I know that I'm good, I know that I'm worth having around. I know from the look in her eyes that she still wants me, but that she feels afraid of what that means.

I want to have one really good dream of her tonight, my arms around her in the almost too-warm bed with the butter soft sheets; her thick fingers grasping mine in the morning; the taste of coffee drunk on a park bench late in the morning as I sit next to her reading a book. I want all the good things to bubble up and leave traces under my skin. I want the effervescence of a new and exciting relationship to stay with me for one night where I forget that it's ended a little early.

Not in my dreams, and not as a secret, I want her fingers in my cunt one last time, pressing hard and filling me up. I want to kiss her and hold her and leave her later. I want things I won't get to have.


i travel backwards in time, but dream of going forward - 2006-11-21
The Gentrification of a Perfectly Good Cunt - 2006-04-02
apologia, not apology - 2006-03-06
karen carpeter loops and the space time continuum - 2005-12-19
kissing like you mean it, even when you don't necessarily know what "it" is - 2005-04-16