You’re Kind To Me
19 Sep 2011 Leave a Comment
in Love Tags: coffee, unrequited, younger man
I had a visitor today. I find it easy to fantasize about my friend, who is tall, young and handsome. Not only is he all of these things, he’s also kind to me. He makes me laugh. I think he is too young for me, and he thinks I am too old. But still, whenever he’s near me I feel happy.
We shared a cup of coffee together and he told me a little of his life. I complemented his writing and it seemed to surprise him.
He hugged me twice before he left. Kind of like he didn’t know what to do but hug me. It made me happy then, but it makes me sad now. Why couldn’t he just stay and fit into that lonely hole in my heart that I seem to forget about when he’s around?
…I’m an adolescent.
Young Man
18 Sep 2011 Leave a Comment
in Love Tags: love, men, the who, young man blues, younger man
Maybe I should pretend like it never happened, like I didn’t invite you over, and you didn’t kiss me. Unfortunately, I can’t stop thinking about it and you. You’re in such a great time of your life, I’m envious. You should be romping around in as many beds as you possibly can, feeling angry at the world, getting drunk, hurling expletives, feeling hopeful, meeting lots of Los Angeles’s beautiful women and fucking all of them, denouncing love, falling in love a million times, going broke, writing bad drunken poetry, taking great fucking photos, working on shitty movies, working shitty jobs, feeling hopeful that one great one will be around the corner, getting that great job, building your confidence so that you will jump in and produce a thing of your own. Man. If I could have a muse, my friend, you’d be it. All of the possibility and the frustration and the hopes and the dashed hopes and your wit and your adventure and your youth and your smile and the fact that ginger tea makes you giggle for some reason and your brooding and all that is wrapped up in your skin. When I kiss you, it’s not just fun for me anymore. It used to seem simple and uncomplicated. Now when I kiss you, all of the things that torment me and make me feel intoxicated with my loneliness start to undress themselves. My charm falls to the floor and all I am is this horribly vulnerable person.
I feel things very intensely. It’s not anything that anyone should be asked to handle. You didn’t come over in an attempt to handle any of it.
As much as I see in you that I find lovely and beautiful and sparkling… Damn it I want someone to see that in me. I want someone else to see everything I have winding round and round in my heart and head and find it wonderful and to let me know that they find it wonderful. I want a Clyde to my Bonnie. I really don’t know you that well at all and I might be just a very imaginative person, creating this romantic ideal of you, This Young Man. Not to say that you don’t have your own very real, very good qualities. We just don’t know each other that well and the idea I have of what you should be doing as a Young Man is so much better than perhaps what its really like being a young man.
Romp. Kiss. Play. Work. Work. Work. Write. Photograph. Those are the things I hope you are doing, and more you beautiful creature. I’ll write stories and feature you in them.
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