“shoot your love into my veins”
Normally, i hate crying. Crying is not a release for me; if anything it is a failure. It makes me feel not in control of myself, guilty (i always apologize), useless; worse than i did about whatever made me cry. If i know why i’m crying, which often i don’t. That is the very worst – it makes me feel crazy. All that said, i really don’t cry often at all (anymore).
The exception: crying after sex. That is more a matter of having been dismantled in the best way possible so that there is nothing containing all that sort of thing. And it’s fine, not really good or bad, it just is. (not especially common either)
I say all of the above because i have no real idea what to say about what actually happened. It had been a week or so since we’d had really any sort of alone time together at all (my mom was in town (which was otherwise great) along with all sorts of other complications that week). Which, the way things have been going, is a while, and the night started off in a decidedly physical, need. you. now. sort of way. Which was fucking fantastic and all, but…i think i’m in far deeper than i knew. I just started crying – like really, really crying. Here’s where i start babbling, because i don’t entirely know what i’m talking about, and seem only capable of thinking about it in half-sentences. If it’s half-truths, it’s the best i can do. It was nothing like what i said above (well, perhaps dismantled), it was completely good. Overwhelmingly so. On second thought, it was nearly the same as the first sort of crying i described – that bubbling up of irrational, unsummoned and difficult to define emotion. And it still makes me feel a little crazy, but in this case everything else was good. I had missed her. I think, most of all, i felt profoundly safe, protected. Which is odd to me; i never feel particularly unsafe, it seems funny that safe would be the feeling that simply undoes me. It was extremely physical – it was right there every time/place she touched me…like, here, i’m right here where you need me. Even (especially?) when it hurt. [Which goes right in the direction of a post i’ve been wanting to write for weeks. I’m trying. It’ll be here soon, i hope.] Anyhow, it all took me rather aback. But good. </babble>
Of course, part of it is simply physical closeness. I was the kid who would always sit under the desk rather than at or on it (one time i climbed into a locker and fell asleep). I wear long sleeves when i feel mopey because they feel like being hugged all over. That feeling of being held is, actually, one of my very favorite things about my cuffs (being tied to the bed is nice and all, but…) I’d wear them all the time, but it would “ruin [my] vanilla image” (as Jamie said of something else recently, hehe).
“Essence” – Lucinda Williams