September 15, 2002
I Suck
I wish I had time to write that funny entry that has been revolving slowly in my mind for several days. Something about sock and Jewish stars and white castles napkins. But I can't. I'm too busy sighing and shivering.
I have three toothbrushes, you know. Two of which my mother knows about.
I have a blue and translucent toothbrush at Mike's house. I shower there, after work, and brush my teeth. I like the way I look in his mirror. I like the way we look in his mirror.
Other people might say that he is short. I think he is the perfect height.
Do I envy her? I don't know, honestly. Mike and I actually talked about it last night, in the half-coherence of our drive home. A man would not be enough for me, I need things for myself as well. I am never so happy as when I am with him, but to be satisfied only by him? It may last for awhile, but in the long run, in the future? I need this, much as it tears my heart in half. I need this, much as it threatens that which I hold nearly as dear. I need this... just for me. For no one else.
And it's not so hard. Not all the time. Just sometimes. Just at night, when a breeze tickles my skin instead of his fingers, just on Sundays or Wednesdays when I am fresh from his touch and attention, when I am so close and yet so far away.
I could cry, now, if I wanted to. I feel the little fissures in my heart slowly opening wider, I feel my life's blood bubbling forth. The carpet is too white, too white for this red. My eyelids are heavy, maybe with sleep, maybe with tears, maybe with half-memories of his face, in the flickering lights of the club, in the dark of his room, in the street-lamp-concrete highway.
Rambling, about something, about nothing.
"I still think you're devilishly handsome." I grin, and Mike returns the gesture and brushes hair out of my face.
"And I still think you're beautiful."
I am so lonely. I suck.
astera at 11:21 p.m.