Shortcomings.

Anger and Love.

I've been mad at myself lately and I can't wait to go home and see him. I just want to talk to him. And when we part my heart will ache and mend the wall back up. For I my perception is clouded, yet he is in all of my memories. He sparked my adventure in a way, he showed me the outskirts of our bubble, he conjured up the night with me in the palm of his hand. Young and in love, with out a care in the world. I shared his warmness in myself with someone else. He reminded me of compassion, and dedication, of warm hearts and originality. I can't help but miss that natural instinct. I can't help but be thankful for his input, I can't help but dread the confrontation, and the return of it all. The automatic rejection, the pulling of my passion. My chest actually gravitates toward his and my hands break the invisible chains to my side. It's inevitable.

But I was thinking today that I can't give in - would that really be closure, I ask? Or would that pass him off as just another one in my past - disposable and meaningless. But the thing is I'll never forget his last name, I'll never forget the feeling, and when it happens again I'll remember, ever last detail. Sometimes it makes me cry, other times it makes me hopeful. There is a barrier I can't seem to identify. Never mind, it's my family barrier. Now I see it as an excuse. He's not a loser. He is one of the happiest and lovable and dedicated people I've ever met. Just thinking about him here is legendary - like when it happens I know the moment will last forever with no pictures needed. I used to think he was so preoccupied and would forget me, and I never him. Now I see that that assumption isn't true... that he is really thinking about me. I want to express this to him but would he disarm at my initiation and truly see me as someone else, someone lost and impulsive; or would he see me? The same person from years ago, so close in distance but unreachable.
I have to see him - I need the closure.
Talking will be easy, I know it will be.

Now there's this, and all I want to do is go backwards to where I first started questioning my sexuality and tell myself to forget about it and let it happen when it happens. Instead I dove in with my arms tied behind my back and blindfolded and aimless. Like a fluttering moth bumping into a cobwebbed flickering light on a porch. Scared by the reflection, but drawn by the heat, and the excuse is him....

So it goes.