love's no trifle

I found angsty from a few months ago, just sitting on my harddrive. I'm only sharing it because I've noticed how different my thinking is now. What with being medicated, happy, moved on, self-assured...doing well.

I tried to untangle some bundles in my head:

I remember feeling out of place in my oversized too-bright green and stained jeans. Next to this lanky pretty with painted denim and hair that could (has) make (made) girls swoon, it’s impossible to not feel inferior. Somewhere between discussing traveling Europe and a heartfelt recommendation I make for Albert Camus, I start to notice just how pretty he is.

This is dangerous territory. This is bad news bears.

Weeks pass. You grow closer. A casual hi turns into an hour-long conversation, when your family back home is dramatically altered, he’s the one you turn to and rant at. He’s the one who lets you. It’s still dangerous territory, and you’re starting to care a lot less. All you can feel is the press of his body against yours, a tongue darting into your mouth. Not hesitant. Not hesitant at all. You’d never really encountered that confidence, and you were anxious to see more of it. You end up getting a bit more than you bargained for.

You swear it’s a case of happenstance. A party that only you and another friend attend, hanging out turns into snuggling turns into “Be right back, I’m going to go ravish her.”

You find out afterward it’s his first time having sex in a bed. You feel oddly honoured, and hope you were as good as he hoped you would be. You talk, you tell him things you don’t tell many others, and you sleep. Something about the planes of his body against yours and the morning light from the window above his bed feels right. Something about waking up next to him feels right. It’s a feeling you’ll get used to over the next few months. It’s terrifying.

Your terror turns inward.

A comment that won’t strike you as odd until much later: “To me, this is almost better than sex.”

And then I tried to untangle some really really really big bundles:

You never expect her the first time. She’s got a way about her, too subtle to be trusted. It’s not a big event, doesn’t proclaim itself with fanfare and trumpets, it just rests in the quiet sound of metal slicing skin. A sound you’ve known intimately, a sound you’ve taken in and made a part of you for the past five years.

He’s the gentlest lover you’ve ever had, and you can find him in the strangest places. Broken utensils, rough plastic, bobby pins left to rust in the forgotten backs of your dresser drawer. You’ve always preferred him hiding in plain sight, the plastic disposable razors gave you in an ill-conceived acknowledgement of puberty. So many in a pack, one set of blades would hardly be missed.

Painting a tree in your blood, rooting. Against your body, with your body.