Birds of a feather flock together
Well that was unexpected. I mean, birds of a feather flock together, I get that but seriously, it's been over a year.
I didn't expect him to fight for me. It was childish and, well hell, let's just say it, downright futile and we both knew it so I wasn't surprised, if maybe a tiny bit disappointed, when he didn't call.
I had it all planned out what I was gonna do if he did. Well, maybe, anyway. It was a choice of two options; cut the call off-pro: it saves on the long-distance charge and shows him that I'm still pissed with him, con: I don't get to hear his voice for very long and I won't find out what he's got to say-or tell him the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth-pro: it gets it off my chest and makes it his problem too, con: it makes me vulnerable and it might all be for nothing. Damn my fucking pro/con lists!
Turned out I didn't need them anyway. He didn't call. A whole fucking year and he didn't contact me once! Not even a Christmas card! Did you send me a letter? Postcard? Smoke signal? A nice fruit basket?
So of course he was the last person I expected to see when I went to the classics convention in Hartford. I suppose I shouldn't have been so surprised, really. I mean, books are always gonna be our thing, I just didn't think I was ever gonna see him again. But there he was, standing next to the modern classics, clutching a First Edition Bukowski, Factotum, and a glass of champagne.
And all of a sudden, I'm dropping my copy of Swann's Way and walking over to him. So much for pro/con lists, huh? Note to self: impulsive doesn't work for me. But I just kept thinking that it might be different this time. I just…wanted to know what it would be like. Again.
So there I am, kissing him, amidst First Edition Nietzsche and Tolstoy, and all I can think is…well, that's the point, I can't think. It's a mind-numbing kiss. All my senses felt cut off, like I couldn't breathe unless I was with him. He's my oxygen.
Wow.
