At the end of the lecture, a buffet opens. I suck the figues while looking at him. He’s not that hot, but he’ll do. He seems afraid of the daring attitude. I think for a second that my reputation as a young-trying-to-be intellectual in this city is at risk if I give away myself too easily. But I have a book to write, and I have always been really terrible at coming up with fiction. To experience the real is the only way I have found to be able to write or create. A sort of proof-of-concept to getting to know myself better, as my astrologist said.
Don't underestimate short moments of care and appreciation with strangers. In the long run, you might realize that these memories mean more than the illusion of depth with relatives.
Sat on the hills, he exposes how, in his experience, emotional connection and sex separate. I can’t help but wonder if that is part of his pre-digested education as a man, or if I have been oh-to-well raised to think that sex only happens in a hetero-normative radioactive family. Surely, dating and being intimate with women sounded more reassuring and less haunting than chasing intimacy with men. There lie our differences of opinion. I observed in silence this recent idea, melting in the depth of me.
The only remaining mission was to learn how to dance with these sudden changes of direction while wanting to remain in my relationship. What could I have said? That habits kill the slowly dying fire in me? But for whom isn’t this a truth? Can I still gently whisper when I say that my love rarely encounters my desires?