C's been on my mind and I don't know why. I thought about writing but it's so one-sided and I don't have the stomach for that very often. Tonight, though, I let it wash over me.
For a while I had the last Friday appointment. I loved that slot. I got to be the last person to see her off to her weekend. This was in the early time, the office that when I dreamt it was always a treehouse.
And then the fall came and we sometimes did a 1.5 slot. This meant it might be twilight or even dark when we were done. Night changes me. I'm vulnerable, but also impulsive. Maybe we all have this quality? The vampires and the werewolves. It felt risqué. Daring intoxication.
I've had to do a little driving recently and found myself in some of the same routes I used to take to her and from her and played the mixed tape in the background. Sometimes, I laughed out loud, or blushed, even though I was alone in the car. I remembered the images that so preoccupied me. Not images, exactly, because I stepped fully in.
It went pretty far. Maybe too far. I could feel - doing 80 on the freeway - my mouth around her clit and pushing her thighs back and open with my forearms in one carnal move. Those milliseconds string together like those books you can flip through to make an image appear animated. It's not just sex though. It's vulnerability, presence. We used to have that.
Anyway, I drove that tonight and remembered it all, and the twilight goodbyes because it's the season of twilight goodbyes, again. I think about dropping a note but it will say 'How are you?' 'Great! How are you?' And then something polite, innocuous, and somewhat effervescent. And that's a wrap for four to ten weeks or so, when it will happen again.
We are each of us capable of incredible depth but it doesn't seem like we try to do that. We do this instead and maybe if I didn't know what we could have I would find this fine, but the contrast is too great. And I begin to wonder why we try to stay in touch if it's going to be like this. It's difficult to fathom what she gets or wants from this, either.
This whole post brings to mind a line by Parker Posey:
"It's dark. It's glam. It's sad. It's Christmas."
