It’s a beautiful thing.
There is no benefit of not being kind.
Sometimes it is terribly difficult to be kind, but one is never complimented for being cruel.
I promise you, the quickest way to lose friends is through lies and savage commentary.
I thought that I’d grown old enough to take what I want, leave what I don’t, and never lose a wink of sleep over doing what I thought best.
I’ve had plenty of practice, plenty of hearts too easily broken,
but with you there was something different.
In the way you leaned forward and listened to my words, absorbing everything at a snails pace.
I felt myself choke on each phrase, they caught in my throat and tumbled out in a way I never meant them too.
Too conciliatory, too subdued, too far from the truth of what I need and what I want.
And since then there’s been a wait.
The irony fails to amuse me, all I do now is wait.
Wait for letters to arrive, wait for my mind to decide, wait for my heart to settle, wait for warm air to surround me in its welcoming way.
This time, it is not I who is betrayed, but you.
How sad it all seems.
This morning I walked by the bathroom where the air was thick with perfumes. Fragrant soaps and shampoos filled the space around me and for the briefest of moments my mind was triggered with something that smelled just like you.
Like you.
Like reckless driving to watch you grip the handle on my volkswagen’s door.
Like two in the morning, sneaking out of your room, wondering what would happen if my mother ever knew.
Like torturous country in your truck, you singing along, and a eye roll thrown in for good measure.
Like laughter and nothing serious, like two winters of shameless flirting.
Like how spring approaches now and I have to return to reality, where a safer boy waits for me. Where college and grades and SAT scores remind me that there is a future and I can’t be anchored to my childhood city and neighborhood.
Like life passing and days of sunshine and days of snow.
I’m happy.
Tomorrow I will see my step mom for the day. I’ll give her a gift of chocolates I bought at a local shop and we’ll try to cram months of absence into a few hours’ lunch.
Today I had “birthmas” dinner with my mom and siblings, exchanged gifts.
I came home to a gift of coco Chanel perfume, my favorite scent.
The day after tomorrow is my birthday. I’ll turn 18 this year.
For my birthday and Christmas, I’ll be in Virginia beach where I spent part of my childhood with my father’s family.
Next, two thousand and thirteen. I’ll struggle between distant love or comfort with ease close to home this year.
And I’ll watch way too many French films and old movies, movies aged either in make or in subject.
And maybe I’ll find a path for my future.
Bon anniversaire à moi.
My friends are beautiful.
They are complex and strange but always fascinating.
