Stupid Girls

Friday, June 04, 2004


You are reading

repost: You are reading

She's worth it. I feel so clumsy around her. And I so want this probationary period to be over, so we can relax and become friends!

I'm flattered she trusts me as much as she does, really. She has reason to distrust unpredictability.

I'm not so much unpredictable as I am spontanious and, I'm afraid, a bit impetuous.

I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve. That's not easy for people who protect themselves in other ways.

I don't expect her to be like me. I don't expect me to be like her. I don't think she does, either.

She's the first person in this town, and I've lived here twelve years, with whom I feel a real identification.

I was right about her; I do know her. Oh, not perfectly or completely. But I know enough to realize I want to orbit her.

Not circle her; I don't need a person as the center of my journey.

More obliquely, like a far-ranging comet: venturing out in my own path, circling 'round, bringing in what I've learned out there to show her.

She's very beautiful. She's an intricate construct of will, strenght and intellect. She has a good heart.

Nothing about her is lazy, sloppy, self indulgent...

She's clean, or she's tidying and dusting.

Like me.

She's very playful, on her own terms. I find this disarming, charming.

I would be proud to earn her friendship.

No hoop jumping, here. I couldn't fool her, or myself. Besides, who needs the stress?

I wouldn't bother to persue this, if that were a demand.

She puts me in mind of women of the late 19th century. Formal, polite, proper: a form constructed over swelling hearts and true romanticism. Passion sublimated.

Intricate. Everything is expressed, yes. But within carefully constructed form.

She's really beautiful!

So, I'm courting her, as I court myself. She must be won, as must I.

I've been asking myself: am I being honest? I've been checking myself to make sure I'm no using her, in my exhuberance to connect.

No, I genuinely like her. She amuses me. She challenges me. She inspires me.

And, yes, she intimidates me. But I find myself relishing my need to control myself, so I won't unduely alarm her.

I know I'll make mistakes. I've already made a doozie, and she witnessed it.

Yet, she comes back: like a cat, on her own terms, when she feels like it.

She is never to be mistaken for domesticated. A current of wildness powers her. It's vivid and strong.

I struggle with my masks, borders, training and reorientation. Sometimes, I don't speak when I wish I would. Sometimes, I babble.

She'll flick a gaze at me from the corner of her eye and I'm exposed. All I can do is smile and retract my latest foolishness.

She's really beautiful.

I wish I could jump a year in time to see us then.

Ah, but this circling: it's so delightful!

I make no promises; I wouldn't presume expectations. This is too much fun, too large, too interesting to confine to a formula. I respect her too much. I respect myself too much.

I really am on an adventure. Everything has changed, is changing.

She is my witness. She quietly observes, seldom comments. But when she does, it's lovely. She sees me when she speaks.

It scares me, sure, but it affirms me, too. It warms and comforts me. I'm small and delicate, big and powerful, all at the same time.

Sometimes, the turn of the corner of her mouth suggests she's amused by all this.

As long as she agrees, until she tells me not to, I'll court her. I'll want to comfort, amuse and appreciate her. She asks for none of that; she takes care of herself.

She's really beautiful.

She can't be spoiled. She can't be bought. She can't be fooled.

A friendship with her is worth the wait, the work.

However it has come to this, I'm grateful.