Sunday, May 15, 2005


In so many ways, I feel like such a child. My insecurities, though muted or muffled, are the same as they were when I was very young - when I first experienced judgement and criticism. The little Pavlovian paths are difficult to reroute. Every now and again, I meet someone who makes me more self-aware, validates my emotions. Someone who demonstrates twisted behaviours similar to my own. These people are irresistible to me. The kinship I feel, my willingness to expose my emotional guts to them is deeply connected to the fact that I can anticipate their response. I adopt these people immediately. I can recognize you from a distance, and I'll tell you when I do.

Sign the papers, share in my drama and Sunday afternoons.

Call me in the early evening while you have an anxiety attack on a busy city street. Sneak into the bathroom with me at a party, just to have a moment. You, me and the toilet. Confess that you are heartbroken about the girl standing next to us. Make me curry while I sleep, and laugh a tired laugh, saying you cried while you made it. Make me birthday cake. Drink too much and worry none. Laugh at how trashy we look in our little dresses. Give me a long hug, even though you don't usually like to do that. Ask, very politely, if you can kiss my cheek, and then continue to brood. Offer to kick that guy's ass, while in your hot pink tights, if he gives me any more trouble. Explain that you are incapable of being mad at me, but that you're "sad at me" because I failed to respect a passion of yours. Run away with me to the comforts of our friend's bedroom, two duvets, a terrible TV movie and fantasize about coffee with me. Hide under the covers with me, giggling, when she gets home. Become annoyed with me when I consider self-restraint. Assume that they probably deserved it, whatever it was. I can sleep comfortably beside you, in our underwear, make-up smudged around our eyes, with morning breath and bad hair. We're beautiful - even with bleeding, broken hearts, bruises on our calves, and blisters on our feet.

No wonder it took me so long to find you.

There are so many little pieces.


W. S. Cross said...

You've been book tagged!

Trixie said...

I love it.