Notes: this is perhaps the most personal of all my writings (that I'm willing to put online).
i. We are at your house. The window is open, letting the sound of the rain fall through. Gray light arcs through, the only light provided in the room. The room itself is green, a muted green like dying foliage. I’m out of place. You glide through the house like nothing is more natural, fluid and grounded. You smile at me. I smile back, but I feel homesick.
ii. We met years ago, though we weren’t friends until some time after that - it took both circumstance and choice. I learn how to have you in my life, slowly and painstakingly.
iii. Your hands are rough, a lovely texture. I hold them as often as I can get away with, running my thumb along yours, stooping slightly to reach. I don’t want to let you go. I don’t think I can let you go.
iv. It’s a little unbearable how intimate we are, the way you’ll reach up to take something whisper-thin stuck in my hair, the way I don’t hesitate to wipe dirt from your cheek. It’s enough for both of us.
v. We do not choose each other first. We choose each other second and third and fourth and fifth, but never first. We’re smarter than that.
vi. I’ll say here what I’ll never be able to say to your face: I love you. I love you despite all my misgivings and I love you despite everything you are that I am not. I love the way you smile and laugh and fear and cry. I love you for who you are.
vii. I think you know I love you.