you've always had that unconscious ability to make everyone around you feel completely inferior. that demeanor that's not quite cold, but not quite welcoming; more like selective. you've always had a way of making me want to be inside your tough outer shell, and at the drop of a hat i'd hop in my car to transport you wherever you wanted to go. you'd hold on to the door handle and laugh at my sharp curves and accelerations, and you'd let me speak, never revealing anything about yourself in turn. how desperately i coveted you from a distance, knowing even then that it was complete superficiality that drew me to you. i felt twelve years old again, calling girlfriends to giggle and gossip about how i'd spent the evening in your company or how you'd said something nice to me. i wish i knew where that piece of paper was on which you wrote

jen,
you are pretty
like cursive handwriting
which looks real nice
even when written
while driving.

because even now i thrive on the small compliments you pay me. it is so incredibly hard to convince myself that you are not above me, that you are not better than me, that i deserve to be friends with you. some days are better than others.

when i sleep at your house, i still find myself on my back, awake, not moving a muscle so as to avoid wrecking my appearance. i wouldn't want you to catch me looking anything but my best. that's still something i do. i can't be vulnerable around you because you are so rarely vulnerable around me.

being at your house also reminds me of the last time i stayed there. you'd gone upstairs and i was laying with my head tired on the arm of my chair. in the flickering fluorescence of the rolling movie credits on the screen four feet away, he came up behind me and put his arms around my waist. silkysmooth, like a snake. i touched his hands so softly and i turned to face him, and i let him kiss me. i let him touch me. and you'll never know. it was all so secret just like everything that ever happens in those predawn ticking seconds. your house holds so many secrets and fears and personal demons for me that it's amazing i can even step into it without being knocked backwards by a blast of evil air.

the craziest part is how you'll never, ever know how much i've thought about you, written about you, lamented and talked about and examined you. you'll never know what i've gone through. and i'll never be able to tell you.

i can't be less than perfect.

past future

last five entries:
blisters and bruises - 03.18.08
dorsey - 03.13.07
finding peace - 02.02.07
unintentional clean slate - 09.11.06
natural born cyborg - 06.23.06