Who do I write for? If for myself, does it really matter if my words are stifled in me or if I lay them out?
I get afraid to write more often than not.
It is just twenty five minutes after midnight and it’s raining outside. There is the sound of the fan and the mist of the rain and I can’t stop thinking about her, can’t stop thinking about her.
The rain is so tender. Well, at least we figured out one riddle. Even though I have a companion in my bed, I can’t fall asleep. Though it may have to do with the fact that my head isn’t on his shoulders and my head is too full to sleep.
Except I’m meeting a client in the morning first thing and I’m not ready for her but I don’t feel like working either. There is a skeleton of a website though. I have something to present.
Oh. He said a thing today. That the bed is ours. I’m (finally) sharing a real bed with him that he got from his Grandmother. And he told me if I wanted to stay up and work, I could. That it’s “your bed too”. It made me smile.
Every time I meet her, she tells me I make her laugh. I am in wonder of this every time, and I am so afraid of jinxing it that I can’t help but quietly guard this…. easy tender flame that’s within me.
I love lightning.
People that come in our lives always inevitably teach us a few things. He taught me that safety was possible and in that safety I learned to nurture love and tenderness towards myself. And in the midst of it all, I recognized a truth in myself. There was no shame, no guilt that God wouldn’t love me for what I was. I am. It is a simple truth. And I’m not afraid. I have never been afraid. And I thank God for this blessing.
She taught me tenderness. A different kind of tenderness, and I want to trace empires in her glowing black skin. But. I’ll leave the but hanging. It’s ok.
Frank Ocean is right though. This unrequited love/To me it’s nothing but
/A one-man cult.
I don’t need to drag her in this cult. She deserves better.