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I wanted to lay my head in her lap while she ran her fingers through my hair

April 15, 2012

I had this dream that you told me your girlfriend was pregnant, or might be. And you were upset we’d never gotten together, as now all your decisions, the ones you couldn’t make, had been made for you. And then you tried to fuck me. But even in this dream, it was about as ambiguous as it was in real life. All hints and suggestions, nothing you could take the blame for. You’d never put things into plain language because that would involve letting yourself in on the things you pretend aren’t real.

I do this myself, sometimes. Someone did something to me a long time ago and I never talk about it. I like to think I’ll one day write about it in my other language, and in this way tell the story and hide it from myself at the same time.

The last time I was up here, I made a decision. I dodged a bullet. Here I am again, this much closer to the finish line, and I feel sad and distant and angry. Maybe older siblings never see you as an entire human being, a grown up. Maybe that just doesn’t ever happen.

“Once, recently, when someone asked what I wanted I almost responded that I wanted to lay my head in her lap while she ran her fingers through my hair. It sounds so obvious but I didn’t say it because it wasn’t true. My thoughts were too cloudy to answer the question, but not so cloudy that I didn’t know the answer was complicated.” -Stephen Elliott

I come up here and things become clearer, it’s true. And then a few more days in, I’m itching to get back. I need a city. Not the one I was born in, but a city. I’d like some space, it’s true. But a different kind of space. I told my brother-in-law that there’s something deeply calming to me about a long, empty road stretching out before me.

I’d like to take my medicine, know what I need, and try to incorporate it into my life. I’d like to make the decision, (it’s like quitting smoking, a man told me, you do it every night when you fall asleep)and stick to it. Sometimes I see myself here, living, sometimes I don’t. This is one of the times I don’t. I feel out of place, an outsider.

I’d better stop here. I’m not sure I’m making as much sense as I’d like to.

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