Spent
I am too tired to recount the fine details of the end of my visit with D., but I can say it went far better than I expected. Today was a very good day for us, despite having to begin the temporary separation. Our last day was spent in a breakthrough to a new level of emotional intimacy. That sounds cheesy, but it's true. This is real. I don't think I've felt anything realer. It's been a very long time since there has been real honest love in my life. It's scary. And beautiful. And transformative beyond belief.
In a bathroom stall at the Port Authority bus station, some woman had written on the wall: "Please remember how beautiful you really are". I wished I had a sharpie pen so I could write back, and say, even if she never sees it: "Thank you".
As I walked through the Times Square subway station from 8th ave. to 7th ave. to go uptown and see my best friend L. I read the words of an art installation: "So tired" Yes I am. "Why the pain?" Yes, why indeed?
I looked up at the wall, and in the mosaic tiles were the letters TS -- for Times Square, but I saw my initials too. Everything was speaking to me. Everything was a sign. Had a voice. A meaning. A presence. The faces of strangers potent with experience. I wondered who they all were. I saw a young tawny man on the subway platform, with a tanned neck, and rough ranch hand clothes, dirt on his hands -- he could have been a country hick out of his depth in the big city, or have just come from shooting a bareback gay porn movie in some warehouse or loft in the meat packing district (no pun intended). Anyone can be anyone here. Nothing is as it seems. We're all down the rabbithole. I saw too much on all the faces.
On the train ride home D. called me. He missed me already. He listened to our CD on the bus and thought of me, and then he said again what he'd told me the for the first time this morning: "I love you" :::pause::: "I really mean that". "I love you too" I said "...I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it". So new to hear that, to say it, to feel it, and know that I can truly believe it.
I am fully spent. But not at all empty.
In a bathroom stall at the Port Authority bus station, some woman had written on the wall: "Please remember how beautiful you really are". I wished I had a sharpie pen so I could write back, and say, even if she never sees it: "Thank you".
As I walked through the Times Square subway station from 8th ave. to 7th ave. to go uptown and see my best friend L. I read the words of an art installation: "So tired" Yes I am. "Why the pain?" Yes, why indeed?
I looked up at the wall, and in the mosaic tiles were the letters TS -- for Times Square, but I saw my initials too. Everything was speaking to me. Everything was a sign. Had a voice. A meaning. A presence. The faces of strangers potent with experience. I wondered who they all were. I saw a young tawny man on the subway platform, with a tanned neck, and rough ranch hand clothes, dirt on his hands -- he could have been a country hick out of his depth in the big city, or have just come from shooting a bareback gay porn movie in some warehouse or loft in the meat packing district (no pun intended). Anyone can be anyone here. Nothing is as it seems. We're all down the rabbithole. I saw too much on all the faces.
On the train ride home D. called me. He missed me already. He listened to our CD on the bus and thought of me, and then he said again what he'd told me the for the first time this morning: "I love you" :::pause::: "I really mean that". "I love you too" I said "...I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it". So new to hear that, to say it, to feel it, and know that I can truly believe it.
I am fully spent. But not at all empty.
posted by scribe at 4/14/2006
<< Home