it seems like he has always been here in my bed. he seems to just suddenly belong, like a part of something that was missing and has now been returned without fanfare.
. . .like it's the most natural thing in the world and i've always had it but just not realized it.
but this is the thing about him: he doesn't seem to be passionate about anything. he's level-headed and sleepy. and there's something about him that i am so drawn to, like he possesses some unknown force that causes me to cling to him. is it because i want to figure him out? is it because he never pressures me about anything? is it because i can be false with him and hod back my facts or because i can tell him everything and in the end there is no difference?
it wasn't so much a feeling as it was certain knowledge. like deja vu, except instead of seen before, it was more certainty.
so i think it's like some people have this very liberal relationship with their chapstick. (it is random anecdotes like this that make me love this book)
true, osama bin laden may very well send nuclear-bomb-filled suitcases on amtrak trains into penn station, but until then: i love the 80s on vh1.
the fact is, you can't fake that kind of warmth. you just can't. i've tried. and it seems to me, you just don't encounter such warmth from strangers that often, unless they're drunk or have a hard-on.
i've read somewhere that one of the signs of aging is a resistance to new things. i have worried myself by losing my interested in contemporary music. whereas when i was in my twenties, i bought twenty new CDs a week, now i buy maybe five a year.
i watched him iron and experience what my friend christopher, a science-fiction reader, describes as a 'time slip.' this is when you become so absorbed in something that either one minute or one hour can pass, and you honestly couldn't say which it was. and when you snap out of it, things have shifted, sometimes in alarmingly perceptible ways.
. . .like it's the most natural thing in the world and i've always had it but just not realized it.
but this is the thing about him: he doesn't seem to be passionate about anything. he's level-headed and sleepy. and there's something about him that i am so drawn to, like he possesses some unknown force that causes me to cling to him. is it because i want to figure him out? is it because he never pressures me about anything? is it because i can be false with him and hod back my facts or because i can tell him everything and in the end there is no difference?
it wasn't so much a feeling as it was certain knowledge. like deja vu, except instead of seen before, it was more certainty.
so i think it's like some people have this very liberal relationship with their chapstick. (it is random anecdotes like this that make me love this book)
true, osama bin laden may very well send nuclear-bomb-filled suitcases on amtrak trains into penn station, but until then: i love the 80s on vh1.
the fact is, you can't fake that kind of warmth. you just can't. i've tried. and it seems to me, you just don't encounter such warmth from strangers that often, unless they're drunk or have a hard-on.
i've read somewhere that one of the signs of aging is a resistance to new things. i have worried myself by losing my interested in contemporary music. whereas when i was in my twenties, i bought twenty new CDs a week, now i buy maybe five a year.
i watched him iron and experience what my friend christopher, a science-fiction reader, describes as a 'time slip.' this is when you become so absorbed in something that either one minute or one hour can pass, and you honestly couldn't say which it was. and when you snap out of it, things have shifted, sometimes in alarmingly perceptible ways.
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