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I miss the idea of you. I grieve the things we never would have done anyway. There is a finality that weighs heavier than the loss of you from my life. You were a paper man, sitting in a chair across the room. I grinned sometimes to see you there, but mostly, you slipped under the cushion and out of my mind, not a factor in my real day. My bed no cooler for your absence.



But I had grown used to your one dimension, fond of your presence, scotch-taped to the margin of my life. I'll never mistake paper for permanence again, a crayoned promise for a vow. I've erased all trace of you from my home, from my life. I think I'll open the windows tonight. I think I'll breathe deeply and feel the night against my skin and assure myself that, far from paper, I am real and will relish everything, most of all, myself.



You were a poverty in my life. Your absence enriches me.

Today on IRC



Said to my friend, an artist:



"I want to be your clay."



Her response:



"You are already my muse, there is nothing I could mould you into that would be more of a perfection than you are already."

I dreamed you again. This is the second time, though last time, it was just your face and the impression of you looking at me and almost into me.Who are you? I haven't been able to shake you all day.



This time I saw all of you and have you burned into my memory. I don't even have to close my eyes to picture you. Are you only a dream? Are you someone I will meet someday? You still had that way of looking at me that felt like you were looking so deeply. I feel drawn to you and in my dream, that seems to be what you want.



In this dream, I was in a wheelchair and invited to a dinner party for a university faculty member. A tall man who was fit in a stocky and muscular way with a cleanshaven head, wearing a dinner jacket helped me by removing a chair from the table so my wheelchair would fit. He took the seat beside me and doted on me throughout the evening. A friend of mine leaned in and whispered in my ear that I should not let him get away.



The adoration I see in his eyes is compelling even though it should feel inappropriate at this first meeting. He is the son of an important man, maybe the honored faculty member or a dignitary? I never heard his name in the dream.



I did not find him terribly handsome, but I was terribly attracted to him. An odd detail I remember...his eyes were defined by eyeliner and his face was very kind. His strength was understated in his dinner jacket, but as I remember back, it was a part of him and there was a sense of feeling safe with him. The way he looked at me and the way I felt "fitted" to him is still lingering. I wonder why I was in a wheelchair in the dream. I woke a little while ago without dreaming of him and am now sleepy again.



I wonder, will you come tonight? I invite you.