September 4, 1996
She kissed me on the forehead, and my finest hairs stood at attention.
Her mouth is too wide, lips lightly cracked; her skin is paler than mine,
anemic against her thick wedge of bangs. When we met, she was with her
sister; I hoped there was a mistake for quicker than a heartbeat, then was
making eye contact, exclaiming names, shrieking with glee at meeting this
Internet-twin of mine. I was glad to feel no attraction to her.
Her eyes are heavy, and make the most of it, melting from color to color
so often that I only remember them as storm-tinted clouds scudding over a
technicolor sea. She has hair thick enough to twist and hang over one
shoulder, like willow branches stripped of leaves.
Her soul was mine, and mine hers.
Together, I felt nothing. We were excited to meet [ends there]
Your smallest touch brings me hope
a charge of electricity
on which I can run for hours
I thought to break your hold,
first by running,
second by turning,
third by standing still
but we are unconnected:
our psychic link does no good,
because you're not thinking of me.
I am magician, witch,
expert in the art of deception.
I have cast glamors which no man could break:
but you are no man,
and my shield of hope
withers when you withhold fuel.
Since I left, my heart has cried out for you;
I live happily living other lives,
and happily with you; but I am slapped cold by your absence,
reminded my happiness is hollow.
What hurts the most is that she loves me.
notes: woman goes about her life unknowing that her closest friend still
- gets gifts, letters, signed love, sees lesbian & remembers, reflects
that it made their friendship stronger, they're so close.
September 8, 1996
I have a problem. My problem is that I love you very, very much,
in a lot of different ways, and some of them aren't being returned.
I have been in love with you since we first met, last October, and
I didn't even realize it till December. It was difficult to come to terms
with that... then, to come out to my friends, my parents, and become aware
of all the hatred directed at gay people... it's been an interesting year.
You'd think that I would be able to let go now.
(Dear Stacy, I think I'm bi. I can't stand it anymore. I can't
stand it I can't stand it!! Please call me.... Love, Danica.)
There's so much to explore here. I should be happy like a
little kid, climbing around checking out all the staircases with extra
floors behind them, and the patios with holes going down three stories and
the rooms hidden off of hallways that shouldn't be there, and making up
big, far-reaching imaginary games about it all. But I can't. Right now I'm
in acute pain because I miss you so much, because I know my love ain't
gonna BE requited, and I still can't focus on someone else. I tried to
lust after people, think of them as objects of affection, and they just
didn't cut it.
I make up stories to myself about how things could go. You could
be visiting me, and we could hear that DOMA's passed or that the Hawaii
case lost, and I could break down... you'd be comforting me, and we'd feel
the electricity - we'd BOTH feel it, and kiss.... Or we're on the phone,
and I say "I love you" by accident, without realizing it's going to slip
out.... Or you're at college for awhile, and you realize that, after all
that self-examination, straight might not be all you are, and you want to
experiment.... Little things.
Sometimes it's so bad, it feels like you jabbed a broken bottle
into my heart.... sometimes I get really happy because you remembered my
birthday, sent me a present, called for no reason, even just were very
happy to hear my voice on the other end of the line. I hate not knowing
what you're feeling in all this. I guess that you value our friendship
highly, and so do I; I guess that you're certain that you're straight
now; I guess that you love me a lot, but not romantically. Do I know you
But the parts I don't know, the times when your platonic love for
me gives me hope, those hurt. I've been depressed on and off since we
first parted, usually for a few days at a time. Often, I know that it's
extra stress or exhaustion sparking this coldness in me; sometimes I just
go into withdrawal from your bright warmth. Maybe I was depressed my
junior year from exhausted stress; maybe that's still all it is and I'm
just a Prozac Baby; but I don't think so.
I don't care that I get depressed. If I can keep my head in those
situations, there's lots I can do to help myself. Chocolate doesn't often
help... which scares me... but music does, and writing, and drawing, TV
shows that make me laugh, and simming. Also sour cream 'n' onion chips -
how did you know?... What drives me nuts is that I can't cry. If I could
have some catharsis EVER in my life, I would be so much loser, I
think... less easily depressed, less heavily burdened. My problem feels
like it's just all the weight of the world pent up inside of me, and if I
could let it go and cry about it, it would at least stop dragging me
down. That's the real reason I'm so, so terrified of DOMA passing - if its
passage in the House made me scream and burst into very, very brief tears,
and feel like I'd been beat up and dragged through bushes, what will be my
reaction to its Senate/final passage? I am terrified by the possibility of
my own feelings. (also why I don't seek help for depression: I'm afraid of
crying on some shrink's shoulder, of letting anyone see that far into me.)
I don't know. What is my point here? Hey, I don't have to have a
point. I could just arrange for this to be cut off in mid-sen
Just kidding :) It's not your fault that I love you, or your
problem. My greatest fear is that, if I tell you all my feelings like
this, I'll scare you and you won't be able to look at me in the same way,
and I'll kill your friendship, which would VERILY SUCK.
I wish I knew your story.... What is it like to think you're a
lesbian for two yaers, and then think you're just not very sexual, and
then figure out you're straight? It must have taken a way way lot of
self-examination. Like years of torture! :) Especially since life doesn't
stop to let you think, it just keeps throwing more stuff up for you to
magnetic poetry, same day:
She juices my moon
sea-fast green-black eyes
tongue moaning raw ache
I feel bitter drunk womanvoid
stop please stop