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amulI am in Pittsburgh for the holiday. With the crew, the clan, the family. With my peeps, yo. I arrived last night in the early aye-em, and crashed at Da Colony, per the insistence of Cold Pale Coffee, who has cut her hair (!!)
In the morning, Mole and Rain Dog bounded down the stairs and woke me up. Mole had some work to do, so I joined him up in Molehalla with Chapati and my assignments, and we listened to some JFK conspiracies on streaming radio. I still don't understand how they thought the Jesuits were involved.
We headed over to the Carter Home for Wayward Girls around 1, and people slowly filtered in. The day went as these things usually do, with lots of hugging and happy-to-see-yous, drinking and gaming. Eating, of course. We're professionals at this, you know.
People kept filtering in all night, until...Roo arrived. Roo.
I gave her a quick hug hello and then tried to keep myself away so as not to crowd her. From the moment she arrived, I couldn't take my eyes off of her. With every heartbeat, I knew exactly where she was.
Finally, I wandered over to the couch she was sitting on and sat down. Inches away from her, and suddenly overwhelmed with the need to touch her. My fingers on her knee, reaching for her fingers. But I didn't dare, too confused about where we stood now. "We live a million miles away from each other," she had said those months ago. Not a million miles, I corrected. We're only five hundred miles apart. Actually, that sounds worse, doesn't it?"
My heart is singing, soaring, and I ache for her. I understand, I understand the psychology behind this freedom in my soul. I can only bring myself to love her this strongly because she is out of my reach. That makes her safe, and familiar.
But I can smell her hair, and we're all watching a movie and I don't know what to say. The moment passes, and she wanders off, into the party. With every heartbeat, I knew how distant she was from me, and in what direction.
We are outside, smoking a cigarette, and the need to touch her is overwhelming again. My hand is on her back, her arm, her shoulder. Do I dare touch her hair? The words slip out of my mouth, into the space between us, not precisely with my intent. She nods quietly, and my fingers slip through that sweet memory of intimacy. My fingers are in her hair, and my heart is in love and I understand, I understand that it is only the distance that lets me feel this way.
Yet, I feel it all the same. My heart soars, it llifts and my every thought is overwhelmed with those most primal, infantile desires of childhood playgrounds. I am a boy in front of her, just learning that girls are interesting again. I would do anything to make her smile.
We whisper and shiver in the cold, cigarettes in our hands. I've been feeling the same, lately. "But you're so..." she makes an expansive gesture. "Fearless." Not lately.
I ache for it. I want her sitting across from me, her eyes fixed on mine. I want her truths, her secrets, her trust. All those things, and folded in are the more mature desires of all men. I feel all this, and not a tremor of the usual fears mixed in. (Jung was right). In her presence, I feel more intently than I have felt anything but fear and stress in the months since I saw her last.
But I understand, I know where it comes from. She's so far away, that it's easier to trust her. It's just a trick of the light, the pedestal I've placed on her. I've tricked myself into feeling free with her, just like I tricked myself into feeling free with...others before her.
Does that make it any less? Must I enjoy it less? This sweet moment, in the chill November air, the hint of winter frosting our breath and this sweet, warm thing between us, unspoken, uncertain, with nowhere to go and nothing left. The tiny curl of her hair between my fingers, and her eyes closed with the pleasure of my touch. Her cheek is in my hand, and her lips are a million miles away, unreachable, unattainable.
We're just friends, I know. I understand. If I was here, if this was real, there would be fragments and fractures and things that did not quite fit between us.
But she's a million miles away, and I would do anything to make those sweet, sultry, delicious lips curl into a smile. A laugh, a gleam in those shy eyes that see parts of me so few understand.
Must it? Must knowing who I am and how broken I am really tear the beauty from this moment?
Roo. Smile for me, Roo.
In the morning, Mole and Rain Dog bounded down the stairs and woke me up. Mole had some work to do, so I joined him up in Molehalla with Chapati and my assignments, and we listened to some JFK conspiracies on streaming radio. I still don't understand how they thought the Jesuits were involved.
We headed over to the Carter Home for Wayward Girls around 1, and people slowly filtered in. The day went as these things usually do, with lots of hugging and happy-to-see-yous, drinking and gaming. Eating, of course. We're professionals at this, you know.
People kept filtering in all night, until...Roo arrived. Roo.
I gave her a quick hug hello and then tried to keep myself away so as not to crowd her. From the moment she arrived, I couldn't take my eyes off of her. With every heartbeat, I knew exactly where she was.
Finally, I wandered over to the couch she was sitting on and sat down. Inches away from her, and suddenly overwhelmed with the need to touch her. My fingers on her knee, reaching for her fingers. But I didn't dare, too confused about where we stood now. "We live a million miles away from each other," she had said those months ago. Not a million miles, I corrected. We're only five hundred miles apart. Actually, that sounds worse, doesn't it?"
My heart is singing, soaring, and I ache for her. I understand, I understand the psychology behind this freedom in my soul. I can only bring myself to love her this strongly because she is out of my reach. That makes her safe, and familiar.
But I can smell her hair, and we're all watching a movie and I don't know what to say. The moment passes, and she wanders off, into the party. With every heartbeat, I knew how distant she was from me, and in what direction.
We are outside, smoking a cigarette, and the need to touch her is overwhelming again. My hand is on her back, her arm, her shoulder. Do I dare touch her hair? The words slip out of my mouth, into the space between us, not precisely with my intent. She nods quietly, and my fingers slip through that sweet memory of intimacy. My fingers are in her hair, and my heart is in love and I understand, I understand that it is only the distance that lets me feel this way.
Yet, I feel it all the same. My heart soars, it llifts and my every thought is overwhelmed with those most primal, infantile desires of childhood playgrounds. I am a boy in front of her, just learning that girls are interesting again. I would do anything to make her smile.
We whisper and shiver in the cold, cigarettes in our hands. I've been feeling the same, lately. "But you're so..." she makes an expansive gesture. "Fearless." Not lately.
I ache for it. I want her sitting across from me, her eyes fixed on mine. I want her truths, her secrets, her trust. All those things, and folded in are the more mature desires of all men. I feel all this, and not a tremor of the usual fears mixed in. (Jung was right). In her presence, I feel more intently than I have felt anything but fear and stress in the months since I saw her last.
But I understand, I know where it comes from. She's so far away, that it's easier to trust her. It's just a trick of the light, the pedestal I've placed on her. I've tricked myself into feeling free with her, just like I tricked myself into feeling free with...others before her.
Does that make it any less? Must I enjoy it less? This sweet moment, in the chill November air, the hint of winter frosting our breath and this sweet, warm thing between us, unspoken, uncertain, with nowhere to go and nothing left. The tiny curl of her hair between my fingers, and her eyes closed with the pleasure of my touch. Her cheek is in my hand, and her lips are a million miles away, unreachable, unattainable.
We're just friends, I know. I understand. If I was here, if this was real, there would be fragments and fractures and things that did not quite fit between us.
But she's a million miles away, and I would do anything to make those sweet, sultry, delicious lips curl into a smile. A laugh, a gleam in those shy eyes that see parts of me so few understand.
Must it? Must knowing who I am and how broken I am really tear the beauty from this moment?
Roo. Smile for me, Roo.
