Wednesday, March 17

I'm cranky. I don't really want to talk about it but I will anyway.

I don't know what the hell is going on. I can't decide if the things he says are just for other people, to keep the facade, or if they are actually true. That's the bad thing about letting him lie to his friends -- I don't know if he's lying to me, too.

Spent yesterday at Luke's and watched them pray and love and sing. Luke didn't mention M and I'm glad. I can't have that debate because I still don't know where I stand.

I'm tired of being a guilty pleasure. I can be philisophical about John and experiences years after the fact (because we all have to have our first "experience," and your first boy never lasts), but I can't be that to M. I've got too much invested in this.

Makes me wonder if Toby feels like that about me. I hope he knows better, but watching me sleep drives him crazy.

Yesterday morning when I got to Luke and Phil's they were making love (that's what happens when you show up uninvited) so I sat on the couch and waited. Prior experience with these kinds of things tells me Luke needs food every half hour or so, so I don't have to wait long before he wanders out of the bedroom in boxers with mussed hair. (So that's the satiated face.) Phil follows, yawning, and Luke says, "Hey baby. What're you doing here?" Ruffles my hair. Smiles. Pretends like I don't look like I'm dying, and he doesn't look like he's just walked out of heaven.

Don't kid yourselves. This isn't about sex.

Today Luke dropped by with breakfast and asked me how I was doing. I was in a stall with Poe, rubbing my hands over her body. I said, I'm fine. He said, "No you aren't." He said, "You know we love you. No matter what happens, we'll be there. And no matter what he tells you about God, you know the truth." (I'm paraphrasing here; it was actually a rather long conversation.)

I keep going back to Han Fei-tzu and the things he sent with his wife to the afterlife. "My body," he sent with her, "my spirit. My soul." I hand all these things to M, but with a much more real risk of being ripped apart.

I guess that's what happens when you fall in love. So why doesn't Luke look more afraid?


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