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9:31 p.m. - August 10, 2003
Pitch perfect, no, but harmony some
Earlier today I mentioned that it could be like this always and he just looked at me and said I know and it's at these moments that I let down my defenses so he can, too, and we laugh and talk and open up and this is how it's supposed to be. And despite it all, I feel that tug and my anger dissipates, and he reads to me out loud and I practice my Norwegian and he responds in ASL, and we go to the Amish market and in the aisle says he loves me and today was the first PDA with another man and two women went awww. It's only after, the anger honeymoon it's called, that he opens up and I see what's underneath and put pieces together and I can't help it, he's a wounded bird and I yearn to be gentle with people and cannot turn away.

And then I wonder if I'm being manipulated.

He's never been the one who pursues and is frustrated by my hot - cold - near - far routine; it makes him feel rejected, not good enough. And at work he wants to be a field agent and instead is an office analyst, his requests denied and I do not understand how this feels, this golden boy shines and organizes his stars into neat rows. If we could talk like this more often - but not daily, because that's just too much - my head would be in the clouds and all would be well. I love him, readers, I always have yet it's not right and maybe life is about learning one's boundaries, learning what is attainable and what isn't, and how not only to accept these inconsistencies but to discern them a mile away. We share that same weakness inside, the fear of trusting and vulnerability and I know his terror of being queer and masking it all with hypermasculinity, and I love him for it because try as he does, it's not quite enough and that is a powerful feeling. I've fucked him twice today and he can make a very good bottom.

Sigh. I am turning into the consumate gay avatar, aren't I, reducing things to sex, weighing emotions on the scale of top and bottom. This saddens me.


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