Happy anniversary! I released my blog over a year ago, and I love how it has allowed me to express my own personal thoughts and feelings. It seems my blog has turned into a bit of a journal with a hint of poetry in there. And so the saga continues!
The rose-colored glasses remain glued to my face, and it’s causing quite an internal struggle. But even I’ve grown tired of analyzing. The heart wants what it wants.
I was talking about it with Mary the other night, one of the many people opposing our union. Normally I expect the “why won’t you listen to me” attitude that always comes with it (I rarely follow people’s advice), and part of it was still there, but she empathized. I told her how I struggle with letting go when there’s no one else waiting in the wings, and she said sometimes it really does take someone else to get your mind off of someone, for you to realize how good you can be when the right person comes along. It was nice. Different from the usual lecture I get from everyone.
That whole night was just incredible. I came home because Rosie finally came back from NOLA after being gone for six weeks! Heather and Kristen were both working too, and I convinced Mary to join for the evening (she said one drink and then stayed for, like, 5!).
Everyone went to Hollow (even Matt and Cliff – it was nice not to be avoided), where we continued our love fest. I wish I remembered a bit more of it, but from what I remember it was a great time. Heather complimented my confidence, said she truly thought of me as one of her closest friends because of a heart-to-heart we had months ago about religion. She said she hadn’t found anyone else who shared her beliefs, and I honestly hadn’t either until we discussed it. I think it made Kristen a little jealous, but I thought I was going to cry some tears of joy and appreciation. Confidence is something I rarely associate with myself, so for Heather to compliment me on it just seemed so stunning to me. It felt like I had finally finished climbing that mountain.
Rosie and I professed our love for each other, something that has since become easier for both of us. We’ve grown very close over the last year together, and I feel pretty honored to be considered a close friend of hers. She’s had a difficult past, and I feel like I have earned her trust, which, to me, is another accomplishment.
I truly believe that everyone wants love. And with Kristen, I think she doesn’t feel as loved as she wants to be. I think that’s why she was a little hurt at Heather’s words, that maybe she doesn’t fit in as seamlessly as she wants, and I feel for her on that. This is probably the first time in my life that I feel truly accepted and celebrated among people. I want Kristen to have that, to find that, to be happy and loved in the way that she needs. I need to start being a better friend to her, because she’s always there for me, and she is a good person.
Hollow ended with a terrible cartwheel that has since turned into a giant purple bruise on my knee. My cheeks hurt from grinning all night, the air filled with laughter and shouts that fogged my heart and brain. There has only been one other night that brought me such happiness at Hollow, and that was the reunion of the Main Cup legends.
Thankfully this time I didn’t have any redbull vodkas. Although that may be why I first fell asleep in Zeus’s bed.
* * *
I stumbled into your house, the glowing light pantry light illuminating the hardwood floors in golden light, that familiar, musky smell the first thing I notice. I grabbed myself water, knowing my hungover self would thank me in the morning, and followed you up your secret staircase.
I not-so-gracefully made it to your bed, stripped down, grabbed some of your clothes, and fell into your awaiting arms, sprawled sideways on your bed. The snippets of conversation trickle into my head, sprinkled with drunken giggles and lots of love. (There’s no doubt in my mind that drunk you loves me).
Something about apologizing, clarifying from the week before. I finally got to tell you just how wonderful I think you are. You squeezed me so tight to you, your kisses falling on my skin like dew drops. Then we fell into a deep, hard sleep.
As usual, I woke to the sunshine streaming through your tiny window, cursing its light after getting four hours of sleep, my throat dry from salty tequila. I had more room in your bed than usual, even with Zeus on the bed. Everywhere I rolled, your arms were there, waiting. You wanted to be close to me, to hold me while you could. Your comfort. Your safety. Your love.
I was wide awake, moaning about my hangover, your happy chuckles punctuating my stories and complaints. We tried filling in some parts of the previous night, but with little luck. I told you how I missed your dog so much at school that I demonstrated to my roommates how I wanted to hold him. I felt like a toddler fighting sleep, completely ignoring the fact that your parents were home.
Sleep finally gripped me again, and you clutched me close when it did. I dozed off for another hour or so before I finally woke you up with more murmurs and kisses. I laid back down while you manhandled Zeus, and I couldn’t help but appreciate the body that matched your personality. The spark ignited, and I couldn’t help but stare. I’m glad you weren’t looking so that I didn’t have to stop.
You crawled back into the bed under the covers, biting my hip as you did so, and I knew where it was going. I slid the covers over my head, looking at you under its blue-ish hue, afraid to lovingly touch your head as I usually do because of your injury the week before. But you grasped my hand and showed me I didn’t need to be that gentle, though I was still careful.
You bore your weight on me, hugging me tight. Your green eyes stunned me against the blue of the blanket behind your head. You took your time with the kisses, something I hadn’t expected. I guess you remembered me telling you that neck kisses are my weakness. I just wanted to examine your eyes, but I couldn’t do it without blushing, your unblinking gaze striking right through me.
When it was over, you kissed my sweaty forehead, fingers tickling my palms, finding a way to recreate the intimacy while being separated (and cooling down). There’s something so intimate and caring about the hands.
You rubbed my back (you owed me) before you fell back to sleep. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from you. The promise of our next meeting hung in the air, as if you’d stopped fighting me, electric as the promise of a summer thunderstorm.