Disclaimer: They're certainly not mine, I'm just borrowing, and I promise I'll give them a good scrubbing before I return them.
Wishes
Tiamat's Child
I remember that when I was very young my mother kept a wood burning oven for baking with. She said it gave a taste and feel to the bread that gas and electric ovens couldn't. I didn't really care, but I didn't say anything, because I loved that oven.
There was something wonderful about the heat it gave off. Sometimes it seemed so thick and tangible that you could almost wrap yourself up in it as if it were a quilt. I would spend hours sitting in the kitchen, as near to that delightful heat as I could get.
The flames were nice too. Sometimes, when my mother wasn't looking, I would open the little door in its side and watch the way the flames cracked and jumped. It always looked to me as if they were dancing. I used to pretend that someday I would learn that dance and then I wouldn't be lonely anymore.
Mother didn't like my fascination with the stove. She was convinced that I would get burned, and I did. I often burned my hands on that thing, but I didn't tell her. I was afraid she would get rid of it and I wouldn't be able to enjoy it anymore.
She found out eventually, she always did. And she took it away, just like I knew she would. I was upset, but I didn't show it. I only smiled, sunny and sweet as always, and said that it was okay, I understood, and I was sorry for keeping secrets. And I *was* sorry, and I *did* understand, but it wasn't really okay.
I missed the heat and the flames. I still wonder if Ill ever feel that warm and loved again. I still miss that feeling.
So it feels strange to know that you think of me as warm that way.
I'm still wondering if you meant to tell me that. I don't think you did, but I'm not sure. I wasn't expecting you to answer me, I thought you were just going to turn and walk away. But you didn't.
Instead you said, "Because you're warm." And then you leaned in close to my face, and for a second I thought you were going to kiss me. You looked like you *wanted* to kiss me. But you didn't. You stepped back and stared at me, the way my mother stares at my father when she thinks no one is watching.
That scared me. you're not supposed to look at me that way. You're trying to catch me, after all. And you're my friend, maybe. And you're a *boy*. Boys aren't supposed to look at boys that way.
I didn't know what to do or say, and I was awfully close to panicking. But I didn't have to say anything, because you turned your back to me and walked away. I should have called to you, but I couldn't make my voice work.
I don't recall much after that. I think Dark got me home. I'll have to thank him.
There are so many things I want to know, even though I sort of wish that I had never found out about any of this. I don't understand, and Dark's no help. He seems to think the whole thing's hilarious.
Do you want to stay close to me because you're less lonely when you're with me? Are you afraid that you'll get burned, but can't stay away? Do you not care if you get burned so long as you can watch me? Do you want to...kiss me?
Are you in love with me?
One of my aunts used to live next to a nuclear power plant. She told me that they used to give tours after the reactors were powered down, but before they had cooled off all the way. She told me of how she used to duck past the guards and scientists, and clamber up the ladder to the brim of the reactor. She would lean over, and drink in the crackle and prickle of the air. She told me that it was like being drowned in love. She always wanted more.
I wonder, am I that precious to you? Would you be sorry if you couldn't see me? Am I special to you? Do you feel loved when you're with me?
I wish I knew.
I wish even more that I knew what to do about it.
I don't want to lose your friendship, but I don't know what to say. I know even less how to act. I suppose you'd like me to pretend the whole thing never happened, but I'm not sure I can.
You see, of all the things I wish, the one that I wish the most is this: I wish I knew what I feel.