Saturday, March 24, 2007
Something I've noticed. This past week I have talked about sex more than usual. You remember one particular kind of conversation I've been having; but I've also enjoyed talking about sex with men I am unlikely to fuck. As I think I mentioned, I've been re-reading The Fermata, and I was struck by a line from the book: "Neither of us wanted the other, but we did want to get close to what we really wanted by talking about it." (p84)
Last night I was telling someone about how, on the previous Friday, I had been so certain that one of my crushes liked me back because the crush had repeatedly kissed me on the cheek. "Like this," I said impulsively, kissing his cheek. I could feel his stubble rough against my lips and I wondered to myself, "Is this a moment?"
I am so in love with the detailed beauty of the world that I'm rather too hasty to identify something as "a moment". By this I mean a flicker of shared recognition, a sense of something passing between two people. However, it's usually only me who identifies its momentousness. Talk and action, possibility and disappointment; these are the things that are consuming my thoughts right now.
Last night I was telling someone about how, on the previous Friday, I had been so certain that one of my crushes liked me back because the crush had repeatedly kissed me on the cheek. "Like this," I said impulsively, kissing his cheek. I could feel his stubble rough against my lips and I wondered to myself, "Is this a moment?"
I am so in love with the detailed beauty of the world that I'm rather too hasty to identify something as "a moment". By this I mean a flicker of shared recognition, a sense of something passing between two people. However, it's usually only me who identifies its momentousness. Talk and action, possibility and disappointment; these are the things that are consuming my thoughts right now.
