another weekend slipping into transient memory. i ask questions i should not ask. what does sex with me mean to you? what does our relationship mean? what are we?

and the answers are the way he looks at me, slides his fingers over my palms, thighs. i understand these things...as much as possible.

sometimes i want to make him write it out, get him drunk and sit him in front of ms word. "write." ans see what happens, store it forever in multiple formats and programs, digitally preserve, print it out and hold it to my cheek. something tangible that i can read again and again, instead of wondering such things. there is no doubt, not that, just wondering how processes move inside his mind. interesting concepts, these. he tells me that he thinks of our relationship in simpler terms, does not dissect. he loves, it is that simple.

yes,

is it?

i want that...i wish for simple, pure and virginal thoughts about love, but i keep raping everything through past experiences, shreading cohesive thought, whitteling away...until everything is exposed, raw to the touch. and i cry.

i cry for nothing, everything, always, never...all at the same time. mostly i cry for the waiting, exasperation and lack of patience, which even though i am learning how to be w/out, the with is so good. how can i not long for it?

would it be easier if everything was normal, dating and moving in the correct way...having real problems to deal with? problems we could peel down to the root, extract and dissect, fix and perhaps move on w/out too much pain?

i surely do not know such things. perhaps it is better not to fight about anything, but not have the normalcy of cuddling on wednesday nights...ever. as was pointed out, dinners are special now, he stirs the pot, flips the grilled cheeze (almost) and i chop the garlik. we reach our hands across the table and interlace, and would that change? become familiar?

so many questions today. enough to think on for a few weeks, methinks.

*grin*