I can't talk about you without talking about myself. 

You are who I would have been if no one had loved me. 

I'm sorry I couldn't save you. Thank you for letting me go.

You were a storm and I was something you would have destroyed, but what a view. 

Sometimes a secret makes you feel special, even if you aren't. Even if you know you can never be. In spite of, in memory of something you gave up a long time about. 

A secret. That small smile that creeps across your mouth during the monotonous moments that occur during the day.

A secret. The little warmth between your legs when you think of a life that is very different from the one you lead. 

A secret.That hot mouth against your mouth. Another world, complete, self-sustaining. 

Whenever I see something beautiful, I stop and stare. I sort of revel in it's existence. I feel privileged to be witnessing something so beautiful, and to have been paying  enough attention to realize it's presence. I've always been like this. My instinct is to see something unique, to love it and then to be happy until it goes away.

My mother thinks this is what's wrong with me.

For my mother and sister, when they see something beautiful or unique, when they experience something enjoyable, they want to grab it, contain it and control it.

My mother says, if I knew any better I'd be married by now.

I like loving men. They are a counterpart to myself, that very unknowable, so desirable "other." I like what they write, how they talk and the noises they make. I like the way they eat and their facial expressions. I like the gait of their walk and how their posture changes in different situations. I like comparing his natural everyday voice with his whisper voice when he's on top of me. I like noticing if his snoring is completely random or if there is some underlying pattern that will reveal itself if I listen long enough. I like the way he can be surprisingly tender and vulnerable, I like that sometimes, I can make him happy.

I don't know much about relationships or being a girlfriend or being a wife or a mother. But I do know something about loving someone because they inspire you to be more than you thought possible. I know about loving someone because it's the most natural and wonderful thing you've ever done in your life. I may not have your ring on my finger or have given birth to the child you love. I am just someone who loves you and will continue to love you because you are beautiful, talented, and endlessly amazing.

She called me crying. She told me she was pregnant.

She asked me not to sleep with her boyfriend again.

There was a lot of crying and a lot of cursing. When there was a pause I told her I wasn't anything to worry about and that I would leave her family alone. 

I was supposed to meet up with him for dinner. I asked to be seated in the patio so I could smoke. I ordered a vodka on the rocks. I arrived early and before he arrived I was on my second drink. 

I told him I couldn't see him anymore, when he asked why, I told him that I had a boyfriend and I was feeling guilty for cheating on him.

"You've had a boyfriend this whole time!?"

"Yes, I know, I should have told you, I just can't do this anymore."

He got up and left. I don't know why I didn't yell at him, I don't know why I lied about having a boyfriend. 

Kiss

He had this stupid way of making everything sound like a question. It made me feel better because he never sounded like he knew anything. Everything became a chance to discover ourselves, a chance to figure something out, an opportunity to create something. So we became two explorers in a world where everything is already figured out.

He would play his guitar and I would write. He would place his head on my lap while I told him stories. He would listen to me for hours with that same expression of wonder and interest. I'd stop and blush. 

He was the only person I've ever been with who actually kissed my tears away. Gently he would brush the tears aside with his fingers and then he would press his warm lips on my cheeks, gently nibbling on my ear and then kissing down the slope of my neck. He always took his time with me, I wasn't expected to be anyone else or to know what to do, I didn't have to ask permission or wonder what he wanted. He just wanted me. If this wasn't love, this was the closest I have ever come to it. 

Women

I think sometimes when you smile a lot it almost seems like you're talking. It's the only thing people really respond to. At the end of the "conversation" when you haven't said much, but were interested in the conversation, when you've emphatically nodded your head and smiled reassuringly, they say you are a great listener. They don't even notice you didn't really contribute anything, you might have said, "yes" or "go on" but you weren't saying anything that meant anything. We can have entire relationships like this.

Whenever I feel too confident I remember I only write the word "restaurant" when I can check the spelling, because I always mess up the spelling. I also don't know anything about geography, sometimes I forget which hemisphere I live in. Sometimes I mispronounce words, this is a minefield and can happen at anytime, during any conversation. These little matters of fact leave me vulnerable and eternally humble. 

My favorite people in the world are men. I like women, but I never know what to talk with them about. A lot of women hate there ex-boyfriends, they can discriminate between different scents of candles, they watch reality television, they watch romantic comedies, they have children, they want children, they are married, they want to be married, they gossip, they talk about celebrities, they like shopping, they say one thing but mean something entirely different, they are passive aggressive, they hug, they talk about shoes, they talk about other peoples lives as if they were their own. Like when they talk about their children's achievements as their own, or their husband's money as their money. I don't get it, I don't like it. And I stay away from it. 

Sometimes I dream about having a female confidant. I imagine us going to the library and attending concerts. I think about us going running in the park and maybe buying things from an antique shop. I think about us drinking together and laughing. I imagine her helping me pick out a shade of lipstick or helping me select a vibrator. I imagine us flirting with guys at a bar. I'm sure she's out there, and maybe one day we'll meet and have a pillow fight in our panties and bras. 

Tequila

The old man in front of me was buying a bottle of tequila. The bottle was plastic and the man looked about 80 years old. He shuffled. I guess when you are that old it takes too much effort to lift your limbs. Fat people shuffle, maybe it's because it's too laboring to move in full motion. The old man had a very smooth looking face, there were wrinkles, but they didn't move. He had the same facial expression, he mumbled and didn't acknowledge anyone, not the cashier, not me, just paid attention to the change he got from his 20 dollar bill.

His face looked like a topographical map. His eyes reminded me of stones you see when you look into a river bed. Dark and glossy. I wish I would have said hello or something. 

I paid for my groceries. I forgot my recyclable bag again and I don't like using plastic bags, so I held everything in my arms. When the cashier gave me my change a dime fell. I pretended not to notice. There was a baby in a stroller who kept screaming about the dime. I pretended not to hear her, than the mother said, "Excuse me, but I think you dropped your dime." I had my arms full, if I bent down I could potentially drop everything. The woman just stood there looking at me, the cashier picked up my dime and handed it to me, I said thank you and left the store quickly. I hate disrupting the natural flow of the grocery line process. 

I hate the grocery store, but I got to see that topographical map of an old man, so I guess it was worth it.