part 3

10/11/08
I’m on my bed, again. This is becoming a common theme of these evening ramblings. Only this time it’s different; I have company. He’s here, and I’m sitting here typing away, thinking how different it was when it was us two on this bed. Because we have been on this bed. I remember that night and I can’t help but smile. Guilty grins behind his back, but we weren’t together at the time, what have I to feel guilty about? Oh yes. Because he’s your friend.
That night was unplanned, accidental. The innocent offer of tea, one sugar. You came in, and we came upstairs, and we lay here. It was freezing that night, the heating hadn’t been fixed then. We talked about the songs of my childhood, Squeeze, The Cure, Rush. I feel like I’m back then when I’m with you, all my childishness returns. I confess my silly dreams, my confusions and thoughts and memories, and not once do you laugh. You confessed your secrets to me, I don’t know if I am one of many who know these things, but I feel clued in. The cold makes us lie closer, your hands, next to mine, the hug, the eyes, the sigh, the scent. The kiss.
Oh my god. We kissed that night.
I snap back to now, him on my bed. The correct one? I do not know. We made love - sorry, we had sex - tonight. I came, really quickly, he flipped me over. When he does that I’m paranoid he doesn’t want to see my face. Your kiss was so soft I had to push to feel it, to feel your lips. You always look into my eyes, even when we’re not together. It’s always about the eyes. I wonder if I’d have to push on you, if we made love? Would you push back? I like it be aggressive. You’re not very aggressive.
I know that I want to see you again. I keep saying as friends, but who knows? I am not that good a liar. I know that since you said how you like naked faces, I started wearing less make up. Yet I won’t grow my hair long for him. How come?
Before he was here, you sent me the poem. I especially like the lines “but some days, in little ways, love seeps out in the things i say”. I like the imagery. Love, like a wound, weeping and seeping and leaking all over the place. It made me panic though. Have I wounded you with all this?