They’re easily created. You do something that feels right and as far as someone else is concerned it isn’t. And then it seems impossible to make it OK again. They won’t allow the smoothing, the shaking of the hand, the hug that you long to give. I don’t like it when people misunderstand you, he said. My love. What have I done to merit so much loving?
This morning it feels better. An email comes and I think things are better. But I become warier.
I let her talk, though I would’ve preferred silence. She is a good woman though I feel like I’ve been in a boxing ring, and lost, after seeing her. My body aches with its desire to hold onto the stiffness and rigidity that has held it in place for months now.
I dreamt of choosing to clothe my nakedness again. How interesting. Don’t you think? It was a borrowed coat, but it shielded my vulnerability nonetheless. I don’t have to be so open, the dream and my subconscious seemed to say. I saw myself naked in a mirror and then decided.
We’re off soon. Me to draw and he to read. Nice.
