chapitre deux, or faux french is my default dland language
This is gonna be a tough month. Well, it could be, and it could turn out to be the best one of the past two years. (Why do I measure time that way, months? I guess because months are medium-sized increments with pretty names. May. Years are too long and unpredictable, and weeks are too fleeting. Makes sense to me.)
Oh, yes. Why will it be tough? It doesn't even bear repeating, not in this impersonal space that I am being so intimate with right now. Well, not intimate like that, but anyway... I just don't talk about it. It's in snapshots, winces, wide scrawls...
I wasn't going there. Not tonight.
What happens when you look pain in the face? What about love? Is it like looking at some sort of great and terrible god or idea we aren't capable of seeing, and for good reason? Like my friend Alan, my girl, and I hashed out one night-- we just don't know and maybe there IS actually a plan. None of us wanted to admit it, but finally it was said. But we're not like them, of course. We're not believers; we're just not total agnostics. Well, I never claimed to be one, but why am I typing about religion? Because I'm warmly remembering a conversation that spiralled out of speedy sleepiness, a disproportionate amount of beer (meaning alan drank about 8 to our 1.5)
I just want to be curled up, bared, beside her. Yes, did I tell you yes? I felt it in my heart like nothing else. I can't type this on here for everyone to read. You said you had been huddled there, the whole time. I held you; I knew. Be with me. See my eyes again. Do you know how in love with you I am? So in love that I'll shamelessly quote without proper citation. Darling, that is love. My love.
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