some historians speak of turning points

...and sometimes, I'm inclined to agree.

It's always at the beginning of a relationship, when the initial headiness still hovers, wraith-like. It's darting into a deserted bar with him, and skipping the rest of the night's plans. It's kissing and kissing and waiting anxiously for the next kiss. It's fried chicken and beer and amazing pizza and awkward eating. It's the way he laughs when truly amused, mouth an open almond and eyebrows comically arched. It's taking off your clothes, trusting that he'll be kind. It was realizing that I felt completely comfortable in his arms, head tucked in and kisses dropped on my crown.

It's that moment in the half-light, when you look at him (those lovely eyes, the pale hands, that sweetness and salt) and you say sincerely - you're really great - and trail that thought silently, helplessly, into - I think I could fall in love with you.

the slow fade of love (it's soft edge might cut you)

Translator,

This is the email that I'm not sending you. I really hope you were drunk when you sent your email, because the prospect that you might send something like that sober is really upsetting to me. There was a line that was crossed tonight, and that was the "maybe possibly tentatively getting back together in five years if we're both single" line.

To recap a couple of things:

+ You dumped me. Via email. Which I not only avoided bitching you out about, but freakin' followed all your fucking directives about what we could talk about and when.

+ You suggested getting back together. I said not unless we both changed, and that we could maybe talk about it in the summer.

+ I gave you my travel dates something like eight months ago.

+ I need to stay in Australia so I can graduate. I am under a really large amount of pressure regarding this. You would know this if you had just asked why I needed to take that class.

+ It is not my fault that you changed your plane ticket around my dates. Big fucking emphasis on this one. It was your choice. Also, remember + number 3? I gave you my dates ages ago. If you made a mistake with yours after I gave you mine, again, not my fault. Don't abuse me for your choices and errors.

What you sent me was borderline abusive. Emotional blackmail is a really shitty thing to pull. Don't tell me you love me. You left me, and then made it all about you. If you didn't think it through well enough, that's not my fault. You are the first guy I've really tried to be friends with, post-breakup. I was looking forward to seeing you, I was. If I didn't express this in the email I sent you, it's because I don't want to be vulnerable. You hurt me when you left. Yeah, our relationship was basically nonexistent at that point, but it still made me bleed.

I loved you once upon a time. Maybe one day, that guy I fell in love with will look at that email he sent, and regret it. I hope you find someone who gives you everything you need, but it won't be me.

Lisbourne

P.S. Fuck you and the fucking horse you fucking rode in on. Don't expect a reply.

tell him, "I miss our little talks"

So I'm a little late for my annual April post, but given the drama of the last year, maybe it's good I held off. Enough of my super regressive teen angst on the interwebs!

The other night I went out to drinks, dinner & a jazz club with a boy, D. He's very much my type physically (taller, dark-haired, well-defined facial features) , and seems to be clever enough. We ended up at my second-favourite drinking spot, and we were drinking beer.

Throughout the night, he had occasionally kissed me on the forehead, as if it was a natural thing to do. At the bar, he placed one on my neck - gently, and maybe with a little affection? I'm not sure. It depends on whether he was trying to get me into bed - awarding him the benefit of the doubt, we'll say yes, with affection. I found myself reacting to it in a very unlikely (?) way. Turning, I kissed his face, feathering one on the corner of an eye-lid, the tenderest arch in the neck, running fingers under the line of jaw. Traced the fine bones in his wrist over and over. He has big hands, I like that. I touched him like a lover, as he touched me like one. We kissed in that grungy corner, close-mouthed and slightly hesitant. And then, he said something that I wasn't expecting, delivered with a hint of smarm.

"Such a tease, and then so eager to please"

...at which point I got a little nippy, and snapped out of the softness. Later, I'd think about it. Was it because he slung his arm around my back, clasping the indentation of waist as we walked? Was it because he kissed me on the forehead as he drew me close, and let me curl in? Was it simply because I was responding in kind? In hindsight, it might have seemed a little coy, a little too seductive? Did it seem clingy? Naive? Needy? I don't even know D - just that he's twenty four and presumably sane, with terrible taste in ties - but for just a few moments, I touched him like I loved him, like he was someone precious. And I thought, am I really ready after two months of being away from the Translator?

It's been a little while since I've honestly made love to someone. The last time was with the Translator, and it made me cry. I don't doubt the Translator loved me, in his way, and I in return, but we fucked far, far more often than we made love. Mostly, our loving was expressed in glances and words across a page. I touched him lovingly, but it was usually a monologue and not a conversation. Often when he was asleep.

I like seeing you sleep. before I bed down, I slip light hands over the planes of your body, and smooth over favorite routes. the round of your bicep fits in the cup of my palm: the road trails down to your hip. sometimes I ask you, in a whisper, - are you awake - and you almost never say yes. soft questions and absurd statements: you hear them all, sweetheart, you just don't know. just know that each night, as I lie down beside you, that I run a hand over that tousled head, and am glad.

At the end of the day, I need to sort my shit out regarding the Translator, even if "sort shit out" for the forseeable future means "don't communicate with him, full stop." Not heading out to the 'Beej in summer, so that helps. Told him the news this morning, and he's being emo and "disappointed". Did he think that seeing me for a weekend was going to fix everything between us? IDK, maybe he was just trying to get laid. Better to stick around in Melbourne. Try not to do any of the weird feeling-touching-transfer onto D. Do well in my exams.

Oh heart. I don't want to be jaded and I don't want to be stupid. I just want a little lovingkindness - and maybe to get laid soon.