June 6, 2003
Epiphany Number One
I never realized how many worlds I belong to. I have created so many selves, each a piece of the whole, interchangeable, prepared at a moment's notice, like a costume change. At this moment of perfect clarity I know that to be true to one self is to neglect the other, to grow is to betray, to love is to forget.
I have been here infrequently, and will continue to be, I think. Now, when I can see him at my absolute will and leisure, I do not make time for anything but. I cannot deny my dependence, nor my love, for they are one. Even now I am shrinking at the fact of making the solid decision of staying home, with the computer and my thoughts. The idea of a night away from his warmth, his touch, our soft spoken words muffled by sheets and laughter... I panic.
I will always be shrouded by the rosy veil he fashioned for me from kisses and kind words. I like the way it looks, the way it feels, the security and comfort it brings. Why should I wear anything else? Sometimes I might put on my glasses. Sometimes my running shoes.
But I think it has been too long. I do not think I could ever take it off.
And what do I really want? Do I want to be holed up in my room, typing furiously, holding true to those ideals which I so painstakingly wrought from rejection and introversion and awkwardness? Do I want to be romping at the park in gothic costume and giggling and fantasizing and drinking Dr. Pepper, my girls close at hand and heart?
Or do I want what I have? Which are the bright memories that lie behind me, the maturity gained from the immature, the occasional pen and keyboard when applicable, the muse that descends in an idle moment? Do I want him, who has not so much completed as changed, not so much changed as made better, not so much bettered as realized?
Love is what it is. It does not take away but gives, demands but gently. I would not trade what I have. I would not go back. I would not be alone if I had a thousand books to my credit.
When I have a laptop, I can write in bed.
I hope I do not disappoint you. I no longer disappoint myself.
astera at 7:08 p.m.