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subsequent
10 June 2009 @ 09:31 pm
at eighteen years and four months old i told her about my fear of drawing the line too far
she said i could never draw it too far

at twenty years and three months old, i still have days where i am terrified of doing that
 
 
hear, hear: let's keep this up forever
 
 
subsequent
i am surrendering to the laughter once i am in L's bookstore, i am surrendering to the dreams at night, those who awake me with tears or the fact that my watch has slipped off my wrist come morning

and my sentence structure is gone for the time being

i still feel the anger resurfacing in my eyes
whenever i see their names and the interaction between them
i just can't help it; it was the most vulnerable moment in my life that night, way past midnight and we stood there and it was crowded, people passed on their way to the subway and i said you know, my mother asked me if i wasn't getting impatient when you don't answer right away and she said i know i am slow, because i easily forget that i have messages i have to answer - but you have to make sure that you're not too kind

but i try to just let the anger pass me by
i don't want to keep treasuring the furious side of me
i had enough of it when i grew up

but i'll be the first one to admit that it still hurts that it couldn't be me, it can never be me

although she still says she hopes i'll be impossible to lose
she still tells me when she misses me because it's too long since we've seen each other - which is hugely appreciated, i'll hold on to that

in the meantime i'll just try to accept that i'm losing sight of my sentence structure
 
 
hear, hear: damn you for letting me sleep 'til noon and get away with it
 
 
subsequent
13 April 2008 @ 02:42 pm
the public display of affection has a wide range
and no matter how much i'll ever like other girls,
it will always be her
no matter how i'll wear my dress and other boys
will go batshit because it looks holy shit fantastic
i'll always wear my dress for her
no matter how much i hate saying goodbye,
i'll always handle that she says goodbye
without giving me the chance to reply
no matter how much i love her i'll never say it out loud
because she knows it always feels like exposing a big secret
but i'll always say darling past midnight when i feel like it
and yes baby kisses on the cheek from now on
and eventually she'll draw her tongue across my cheek
leave me wet with every goodbye
and i'll bite her earlobe
leave my marks
with every hi
 
 
hear, hear: we never looked so pretty we never seemed so real
 
 
subsequent
27 March 2008 @ 09:51 pm
and I realize we delude ourselves
if not broken poetry then scattered memories

as though the walls
on my skin are bulletproof
as though the languages
of your hands are trapped in a frame

don't consider silencing the heartfelt
don't even believe others can wish on our wrists
 
 
subsequent
23 March 2008 @ 08:40 pm
it's about settling for less,
it's about the boy who knows this sentence by heart: "du musst dein Leben ändern", it's these languages of mine as they retreat to their hands, it's the glances across second floor, it's how we reject the truth and create our own reality despite the fact that they see our skin, they see the paleness, they see how our fingers lace in doubt, and as i leave my chest open, memories scatter; he knows there are things i'll never say out loud, she knows there are things i'll never even dare to whisper, it's about holding onto her hand exactly the minute, exactly the second you start to feel that it isn't fair to settle for less, it's about not avoiding her gaze when she wants to go further, it's about not sleeping away the summer night, she is my words like safety, i am her photographs like truths and you might not believe me, you might not want my reality, but it's beautiful and that is all we need

it's the moment they share the most bruising of kisses, it's the colour of heaven four a.m that thursday morning and your youth will not forgive you, don't you remember, it's the hour of the wolf, it's juliet's wishes: the tenderness he thought never would be possible to elicit - not here, not now - but it's what is shining through so clearly, and know this: i'll never give up on time, not as he did, not as you might do in the end

and why don't we convey like we still believe, why don't we go back to ourselves then, in the mirror, on the tram, the way you touch my cheek, the way i look at you, the way she kisses me goodbye and i am burning - it's just as stunning everytime, because she says goodbye just the way he once did and who cares if this is not real, who cares if this is the ink on the pages in a book, who cares if this is not written in our hands after all, it's still portrayed in our minds

it's about the weight she carries on her spine,
it's about how they stare full-on in silence,
it's about how we believe

that we could also be love

home is where her heart is
 
 
hear, hear: love is not a victory march
 
 
subsequent
i tracked down these lines: "in the meantime i am sorry i lost myself i am", it has been nearly three years since he was the one i obsessed over because i couldn't define him between the prettiness and the lack of time and the moments inbetween that didn't make it any further because he couldn't be nothing but moments. and alanis morissette has it all cleared out with these lines: "and yet i wanted to save us high water or hell
and i kept on ignoring the ambivalence you felt
and in the meantime i lost myself
in the meantime i lost myself
i am sorry i lost myself....i am
."
 
 
hear, hear: i'm lights that are flashing i'm strangers passing by
 
 
subsequent
1. "“You said that this garden was Michelle’s favorite part of the house. What’s yours?” Jake retuned his unlit cigarette to the pack.
Heath’s breath caught slightly; no one had ever asked him that before.

Heath led Jake into the master bathroom, barely making a sound. Heath turned on the light and pointed skyward.
“There it is, my favorite part of the house.”
Jake gazed up at the skylight and gasped.
“Wow, so beautiful. Was this here already?”
“No, it was my idea,” Heath said proudly, “didn’t take nearly as long as laying all of this tile.”
Jake poked his fingers at the tile admiringly and looked up at Heath. “Ready to turn in?”
Heath nodded, swallowing hard. The hue of Jake’s eyes exploded against the tiles and he felt his heart speed up.
Jake switched off the light to leave the bathroom. The light from above danced off of the walls. Heath felt the warm shadow of Jake’s body behind him. Heath had never liked having his back to people, a quirk exacerbated by his fame. But there was none of that threatening now, it was all benevolence, all trust, all Jake.

The real Heath will do just fine.

Heath turned slowly to face Jake. He couldn’t see the finer points of his face in the dark which was just as well. He took a step forward and leaned in close to Jake’s body. Summoning all of his courage, Heath pressed his lips to Jake’s, as softly as he could. The feel of Jake’s lips was intoxicating, addictive. He smoothed his tongue on the inside of his friend’s lips, not too deeply, just a taste. Jake sighed softly into Heath’s mouth and Heath felt a thudding ache in his groin in response. The euphoria of being this close was almost too much; he felt his private thoughts exposed, the mysteries of his heart hanging right there between them. Every cell in his body felt alive, nothing in that moment but the two of them. Heath pressed closer, running his hand to the back of Jake’s neck, could have cried out from how soft his hair was at the nape, indulging his hand there. Their lips brushed and pressed, apart then together. Heath absorbed every sensation of Jake returning his kiss.

Jake, not Jack.

Jake broke the kiss and switched the light back on. His eyes were swimming with calculations, probability, outcomes, not wanting to guess, wanting to hit the proper mark with his words.
“Tell me,” he breathed finally.
“Tell you what?” Heath whispered.
“Whatever it is that you’re not telling me,” Jake replied slowly.
Jake’s precision had tripped all of Heath’s sensors like dominoes and he had not projected himself this far into the moment.
Heath went silent.
Jake gave Heath a few seconds to respond, but then moved past him toward the door. Jake glanced over his shoulder quickly and left, closing the door behind him.

See you for supper.

Heath leaned over the sink with his head bowed low as if in prayer."

2. "“Hey.”

“Yeah?” Jake’s voice rose over the sound of the water.

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

“So go.”

That wasn’t the answer Heath wanted. He tried another approach.

“Is this the only bathroom?”

“This place is old, so yeah. More than one bathroom is a 1980s phenomenon.”

Heath didn’t really want to hear Jake’s monologue of real estate trivia about pre-Reagan era condominium architecture. He just wanted to sit on the toilet.

“Well, it’s all of that roughage you fed me for dinner and now I need private time in the bathroom” Heath said as he swung the door open wider.

“Jeez me Christmas, can’t you just turn on the fan? I’m not done,” Jake called out. Heath waited a bit but Jake didn’t make any moves and even started humming. Heath could sense that Jake was toying with him and his stomach didn’t have time for it.

“I don’t like other people in the bathroom with me when I’m taking a shit, so can you just get out?!” Heath shouted.

The knobs squeaked as Jake turned the shower off. He forcefully slammed the white plastic shower curtain back on its rollers. He had gathered a towel that was too small for him around his waist and gripped the chrome towel rack with both hands. His face was red and he was laughing hysterically. Jake stumbled out of the shower and over to the doorway where Heath was standing.

“Do you want me to fold the toilet paper into a nice triangle for you, Princess?”

Heath snatched the towel off of Jake and shoved him out of the door in the same motion.

“You can air dry,” Heath said as he slammed the door in Jake’s face.

“Fuck you!” Jake hollered as he slid on wet feet into the hallway.

Heath pulled his pants down and looked around for something to read. To the right of the toilet he found a book of New York Times crossword puzzles. He blew a layer of dust off of it. The book was creased and folded to a puzzle from September 14, 1997. The entire puzzle was completed except for a few clues. One of the blanks was 35 down, “Math calculation.” Heath smirked to himself. Jake sucked at math.

When he was done, he flushed the toilet and thought about taking a shower. He pulled his pants halfway up. Heath looked up at the sound of Jake scratching at the door. He didn’t wait for an answer before barging in.

“Are you fin…?”

Jake lost his words as he leaned onto the doorknob. Heath’s jeans were hovering below his hips, his sandy pubic hair showing. Heath looked down at himself and up at Jake again.

“Can I take a picture of you like that?” Jake asked, not taking his eyes off of Heath’s crotch.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

A grin flickered across Heath’s face. “Ok.”

Jake returned with his camera. Heath was never one to enjoy posing and preening for a photograph. But he understood why Jake wanted this. This was a picture to comfort Jake in the days to come; a migration of memories between trysts and proof of desire deferred. Heath pushed his hands down the front of his jeans, and spread the unzipped fly further apart. He looked into the camera, projecting every salacious thought he ever had about Jake onto the lens.

Jake whistled high between his teeth and snapped his shot. “Just in case you were wondering, that whole thing you usually do to try and downplay your looks? It doesn’t work.”

Heath shrugged and shuffled his feet. “I’m going to take a shower, ok?”

“All yours,” Jake said, shutting the door behind him."

3. "“I feel like you’re waiting for something, waiting for me to say or do something. Being a star, having money, it’s not real. There’s just me, just Jacob. You want me to say something? I will, but it can’t be unsaid, and it’ll always be there between us.”

“Say it.” Heath said, his eyes shining.

Jake stepped closer to Heath, steadied his voice. “She doesn’t know you; she doesn’t understand you like I do. That quiet, sensitive part of your spirit, she can’t take care of it; protect it, the way I do. She can’t love you like I can.”

“I hate this shit,” Jake hissed. He leaned into Heath’s space, bumping shoulders, framing his body with outstretched arms, palms flat against the wall. “I don’t want you to leave but I’m also fantasizing about killing you.” Jake licked Heath’s lower lip and tugged at it, bit it.

The taste of his own blood raised the hairs on the back of Heath’s neck. He reached under Jake’s arm to turn the deadbolt on the door.

By the time Jake returned with the lube and condom, Heath’s pants were at his ankles.

Jake rolled the condom over Heath and spread the lube on him, quick and sloppy, tossing the tube and wrapper to the floor.

Heath pressed Jake into the wall, crossing his forearm over the front of his chest.

“You’ll never talk about leaving me again after I’m done with you.”

Jake smiled slow and wicked. “You trying to talk shit, now?”

“You like it?” Heath panted, stroking his cock through the rubber.

“Love it.” Jake leaned his forehead against the wall and spread his legs.

Heath leaned in close. “I’m going to sink every inch of this dick into your ass,” he growled into his ear.

Jake let a moan ripple out of his throat. “Mmm-hmm, talk to me.”

“You feel that?” Heath nudged his crack.

“Barely, that all you got?”

“Got a whole lot more.”

“Bring it,” Jake taunted.

Heath gripped Jake’s shoulder and pushed in hard. “You feel it now?”

“Yeeeaaahh, fuck…give it to me…uuuuhhhh, fucking…bitch.”

Heath pushed in to the hilt. “What do you think about when my dick is inside of you?” he whispered fiercely.

“I think about all…all…uuhhhhh…of the men and women who look at you and want this dick, and they can’t have it,” Jake breathed.

“Yeah, why? Why can’t they have it?” Heath stroked long and agonizingly slow, feeling each tremor and contraction all the way to his knees.

Jake palmed the wall and pushed his ass back onto Heath. “Because that shit is mine.”

“Whose is it?” Heath fairly sang.

“MINE. Your dick is mine. Tell me it is, fucking tell me…” Jake wiped the sweat from his forehead and pounded the wall with his fist when Heath stopped moving.

“You know it is,” Heath gasped. “You want this, you want your dick? Ready for me?”

Jake gritted his teeth. “Let loose, baby, break me in half.”

“Fucking amazing,” Heath whispered hoarsely.

“Definitely in the top five.”

“What’s number one?” Heath asked.

“That first kiss. It was the most exciting, thrilling moment for me, it was better than sex.”

Heath nodded and lifted his pants up but didn’t bother to fasten them.

Jake put his pants back on and sat in Heath’s lap, facing him. He knew it was one of his favorite positions. They stared at each other until Heath broke the silence.

“I’m sorry. I hurt you, I’m far from perfect, so I sure as hell hope that’s not what you’re after.”

Jake just gazed at him, not answering.

“Have I fucked it up completely? What can I do to make it right with us?” Heath held his breath, fearing the worst.

Jake pulled Heath in closer until their lips were inches apart.

It came out as the faintest whisper, but Heath heard it.

“Marry me.”"

4. "Heath held the picture in his hands and wondered how the most beautiful things in his life had become ugly; the sublime made serrated, cutting and slashing at what little bravery he had left. He fingered the edges of the photograph, looking into his own eyes, missing the feelings that had inspired the image. That moment had belonged to him and Jake. Someone else had intruded on what was theirs and removed it from its home, stealing love and repackaging it as a dormant threat.

He dialed Jake’s number without even thinking about it; too hungry for relief to not ask for what he wanted.

“Waassup, Big Joker?” Jake answered, ebullient and full. “Promise me you’ll keep the costume. You acting all psychotic and dark; that could be sexy. Can I be Robin?”

“I need you,” Heath cut in. He paused to gather himself.

“There was a time when I would have cared about how that sounded or how it would make me look to say that. I don’t care anymore.” Heath sat down hard on the couch and let the words tumble out. “My shit is so fucked and there are things I have to say to you that I can’t say over the phone.”"

5. "“Yes, and I’ve got something to show you.”



“Yea, is it the same thing you showed me when you gagged me?”



“Heh. No,” Jake chuckled.



Jake had been bursting with this revelation since the artist left his house two weeks ago. They had toyed with the idea of buying a bracelet for Jake, but nothing seemed right. They looked at rings, exchanged pictures of necklaces, but still, nothing moved them. Finally, Jake dreamed of something while dozing on a train, a flash of what he could do to symbolize the relationship that they were both learning how to protect.



He unbuttoned his shirt and turned his back to Heath. He dropped the shirt to his waist and heard the loud gasp he had paid $500 for.



“HOLY FUCKING SHIT!” Heath yelled. “I can’t believe you did that!!”



Heath felt around the spot on Jake’s shoulder blade. “Can I put my hand to it or is it tender still?”



“You can touch it,” Jake replied.



“Good on you,” Heath murmured pressing his fingertips along the vivid outline.



“You like it?”



“I fucking goddamn love it,” Heath gushed, taking Jake’s face between his hands and kissing him across his jaw, hovering over his ear like a hummingbird, breathing quick and deep.



“Mmm…let’s go upstairs,” Jake purred. There was something about being in the brownstone with Heath that was making him feel alcohol-buzzed; lusty. They had never had sex in this house, but Jake wanted to. He wanted to know how it felt to sleep in Heath’s bed. If he were being honest with himself, he would have to admit that he didn’t ever want to leave, and that he had felt that way for a long time.



“Something else first,” Heath said excitedly. “Your new ink has my mind going wild. There was something I wanted to do while you were here and now…argh! It’s going to be even better!



Jake shook his head. It was hopeless, sex would have to wait. Heath was bouncing, and he couldn’t be stopped once he got started.



“This better not be something crappy like chop down a tree or paint a room. I hate it when somebody invites you to come over and hang out but then says, ‘hey, I need to get rid of this beehive, you mind helping me out?”



Heath was already dashing around, gathering lamps and lugging more camera equipment out of a closet in the living room.



“Taking pictures? I don’t wanna do that,” Jake whined. “I do that all the time, you’ve got to be kidding.”



“I don’t dig this light; we’ll go upstairs after all. Grab that sack for me,” Heath said over his shoulder.



“Yeah, why don’t you grab this sack?” Jake called after Heath, holding his crotch.



By the time Jake had stomped up the stairs (muttering a different curse with each step), Heath had stripped the mattress and set up a few lamps around the bed.



Jake looked down at the ball of sheets Heath had tossed on to the floor. “Haven’t we gotten into enough trouble because of naughty pictures?”



“Precisely, now we can do whatever we want.”



“But I don’t want to do this, posing for pictures is boring.”



“Sort of like biking first thing in the morning, isn’t it?”



“You suck.”



“Take off your clothes.”



Jake frowned and pulled off his shorts and underwear; stepping out of his sneakers.



Heath spread out a sheet and motioned for Jake to stand on it. He reached into one of his equipment bags and pulled out a small can.



“Is that a can of whoop ass?” Jake asked.



“Shut up, God! Did you treat Vanity Fair like this?” Heath asked, rolling his eyes. He fished a small brush from the bag and popped the lid of the can.



“You would be amazed at the things those make-up guys will give you if you ask. They love to talk about all the shit they do. This is what they use to make it look like you have greasy dirt on you, but it wipes off instantly if you need to be clean for the next frame.”



Heath dipped the brush into the can and painted a stroke across Jake’s chest.



“Eeee, cold!” Jake cringed. He looked down at the drying stripe on his skin. “Cool, this is way better than the stuff they used in Jarhead.”



Heath painted smears of “dirt” all over Jake’s face and body, including his hair.



Jake wrinkled his nose. “So is this some sort of lofty artistic statement or is it just beefcake porn?”



“Why can’t it be both?”



Jake looked up at Heath and saw the hint of a tepid smile, but there was no mistaking the hurt in his eyes that tried to retreat before Jake noticed it.



Jake started to apologize, but he knew that ‘I’m sorry’ had its limitations, there was a better way to say it.



“Leave it to us to be ass-backwards. I proposed to you after an argument, we came up with our vows on the floor of an empty apartment, consummated our union on a hotel carpet, held the ceremony in a bathtub in Africa, and now we’re just getting around to the wedding photos? What kind of gays are we?”



“The kind of gays that have a picture of my pubes in OK! Magazine as their wedding announcement?” Heath offered.



“I like your style, boy. I’m ready to work,” Jake smiled.



Heath positioned Jake on his stomach on top of the bare mattress and moved some of the lamps, testing and tilting the light. Jake watched Heath as he made his way around the bed, and he felt himself getting hard against the busy blue fabric. He could see Heath concentrating; working towards a vision in his head, moving things until whatever he was seeing in his mind’s eye materialized. Heath’s intense focus brought Jake’s lust back from downstairs where he had left it.



“Bend your knees, then cross your feet at the ankles,” Heath directed while looking into the camera.



Jake crossed his feet and tilted his head.



Heath lowered the camera and squatted down. “Don’t pose for someone else, pose for me. Make me want to get into bed with you.”



Jake dropped his head and let his arms hang off the front of the bed, raising his shoulders and arching his back.



“Yea,” Heath breathed. “That’s it.”



Truthfully, Jake loved being photographed. What he didn’t like was the process: Apply make-up, fluff clothes, re-style hair, re-apply make-up, wait while shot director moves cameras, re-fluff. But the shot director had never been Heath, and he was surprised by how much he liked watching the technical aspects.



He lifted his chin and lowered his eyelids, letting his tongue rest on his bottom lip.



“Mm-hmm,” Heath said approvingly as he moved in closer.



“Hold still and let me step over you so I can get a look at your tattoo from up here.” Heath stood on the bed and pointed the camera down at Jake’s back. He hopped down and turned one of the lights off when he was satisfied with his shot.



Jake rolled to his back and looked at Heath upside-down. “Hey, are you that Heath Ledger dude?”



“Yes,” Heath answered with a sly grin.



“Weren’t you in that gay flick with another guy, I think there were horses in it?”



“Yes.” Heath stepped back, still looking into the camera’s viewfinder.



“Give it to me straight. Did you fuck him in the tent? That looked like real actual fucking to me, except I watched a bootleg copy that I bought at a street fair, so you never know.”



Heath taped a bunch of lighting wires to the floor so he wouldn’t keep tripping over them. “No, that would be pornography. The tent was an important cultural moment in American cinema.”



“Why can’t it be both?” Jake grinned.



“Be quiet, please. This isn’t as easy as it looks.”



Jake turned back to his stomach. “I read on justjared.com that you have a huge dick, is that true?”



Heath put his camera on the floor and doubled over with laughter, clutching his stomach while his face turned pink then red. He put his hands on his hips. “My dick is all over the internet, and I must say, this is the first time I’ve ever laughed about it.”



“Really? Ok, I’ll look it up. Does it have its own URL?”



“You’re in rare form today.” Heath sat on the edge of the bed and scrolled through the shots he had taken.



“So the guy in the horse movie, did you stick your tongue in his mouth?”



“It’s not a horse movie, it’s a love story. And yes, I did,” Heath sniffed with mock irritation.



“No shit! I thought actors didn’t do that, like when you do a McDonald’s commercial, you don’t even get to sip the milkshake, you have to pretend.”



“You like milkshakes?” Heath asked, swirling a pattern over Jake’s ass with his finger.



Jake turned his head to the side, put his cheek against the mattress and winked at Heath.



“Brings all the boys to the yard.”"

6. "“Can you step out for a second?” The driver was flooring it and he would reach the address in a few minutes but Jake needed this time, anything not public, not restricted.

A smattering of laughs and a muted exchange slipped into a private silence.

“The fuck have you been; thought we were going to meet up for a bit,” Heath grumbled.

Jake smiled into the receiver. That’s more like it.

“Flight was delayed. Can’t you come downstairs?”

“I could but…” Jake knew what Heath was thinking and he was right.

“No,” they said together.

“It would look…”

“Yeah,” Heath sighed. Jake could see him chewing on his thumbnail.

“Goddamn this fucking shit sucks ass,” Jake hissed.

“Have you been hanging out with Peter lately?”

“Yeah, why?” Jake answered.

“Because your language has deteriorated tremendously,” Heath sniffed.

“That’s not all that’s deteriorated, tell you that much. Jacking off is losing its charm quickly.” Jake buttoned up his blazer as the car approached a nondescript building on the Upper West Side where Sam kept a nondescript office.

“Is it ever charming?” Heath mused.

“It is when I do it,” Jake insisted, “wanna see?”

Heath’s chuckles clicked lightly in the back of his throat, and Jake knew that laugh belonged only to him. It wasn’t your everyday laugh about a good television commercial or something adorable your child had done; it was the sort of laugh shared by two people who were sleeping together."

7. "Heath felt his security evaporating, retreating quickly under the dawning day, too much light pouring over what he had fought to conceal. He locked eyes with Jake. The dark room door had been kicked down; his eyes displaying it all like shifting photographs. Heath watched Jake. Jake had seen.

“Oh…God,” Jake whispered, gripping the bridge of his nose with his fingers and leaning over the side of the fence. “You have feelings, you feel something.” It wasn’t a question.

Heath watched the kale green water of the river rush by, knowing that he was no more in control of what he felt than he was over the river that heard his secret. “Yes, I do. It’s not…sex, it’s…I want things from you I have no rights to.”

Jake didn’t look up, kept his eyes closed. “How long?”

Heath searched for an answer. “I don’t know, it was like a, like a dream that kept coming, and all of a sudden, it became real. And then you were in all of my thoughts, not just the dreaming ones, but the waking ones, too.”

Jake startled and pulled Heath away from the fence. “It’s getting too crowded; we gotta get out of here.”"

8. "After 3 loud knocks, Jake opened the door with a smile. Not a bold one for a camera, but a shy one for a crush. Heath smiled back, touched by Jake’s reticence.

Jake stood up and held his hand out for Heath to take. Jake walked backwards through the living room, miraculously averting 2 months worth of the New York Times while holding Heath’s hand, facing him. “Hungry?” Jake asked.

“Starved,” Heath replied. This was how Heath liked Jake best. He was wearing blue shorts and a grey sleeveless T-shirt. He was barefoot and his hair was sticking up like a little boy just up from a nap. His facial hair was grown in some, reddish brown on his chin and lip. Heath wondered if Jake somehow knew his preferences as it wasn’t like Jake to not fuss over his hair. Or so he thought. Maybe there were a lot of things that he didn’t know about Jake’s daily life.

Heath smiled at the sight of Jake’s small kitchen. It was perfectly in order. There were utensils hanging neatly on the wall and his cookbooks were organized and grouped by category. Jake was serious about cooking in every city, it seemed. His stomach was growling audibly and he hoped whatever they were eating was quick. Microwave popcorn was sounding pretty good, but he knew that Jake didn’t buy or eat processed food. Heath went to lean against the narrow pantry door while Jake was occupied in the refrigerator.

“I have to have a sit-down while I’m here,” Heath said crossing his arms over his chest.

“With who?”

“With Phillip Noyce. We’re doing ‘Dirt Music’, shooting outside of Perth. Next year, I think. Didn’t you meet him at the pre-Oscar party?”

Jake turned around with a huge bowl in his hands, kicking the refrigerator door shut. He set the bowl down on the counter and pulled off the plastic covering.

“Are you kidding me with that? Dude, I was so fucking wasted at that party.”

“Is that when you slept with, um, what's her name?”

Jake squinted up into the ceiling with a perplexed half-smile on his face. “I…guess…”

“You guess?”

“So much interest in who I sleep with, need to start asking you some questions.” Jake shot Heath a teasing look while he mixed whatever was in the bowl.

“Ask away, if I've been in a photograph with her, I've probably slept with her,” Heath quipped.

“What about the chick in New York you were chatting up outside the liquor store, her too?”

Heath spread his arms wide. “You were taking forever in there, what do you want?”

They both laughed and Heath felt some of the nervous tension start to dissipate.

“It's good to see you like this, laughing.” Jake bent down to fetch some bowls from a cabinet underneath the counter.

It was hard for Heath to laugh. He felt guilty about being in California with Jake while Michelle was taking care of Matilda and fielding questions about her father. Then there was the matter of what he was doing here. Not just visiting a friend, but consorting with a lover. Heath walked in Jake’s front door a friend but he knew he would walk out as something else entirely. It was in the air all around them, the current that passed through their fingers from skin to bones when they touched, their eyes drifting over one another not seeing enough, wanting to see more.

Heath had no idea how Jake turned salad ingredients into sex, but somehow he found eating alone with Jake to be very arousing. The salad was an incredible mixture of bitterness and fruit with strips of rare beef on top. At first thought, Heath had sulked privately over the concept of salad for dinner. But the competing flavors were divine and the wine they sipped made him feel heady and open, like they were eating outdoors. Jake’s dining room was a small, round table in the corner of the kitchen. The room was losing its light to the evening and the single lamp from the living room fashioned a warm glow. Their long legs were entangled underneath the tabletop, Jake’s bare legs against Heath’s denim, their calves and thighs pushing and pressing because there was no one there to say anything about it. They watched each other openly, not stealing glances, staring full on, in silence."

9. "“I want to get on my hands and knees for you.”

“I don’t have a lot of control with that position, it does things to me,” Jake breathed.

“I don’t want control,” Heath whispered, “I want to get fucked.”

Jake groaned and pushed Heath onto his stomach. Heath quivered with anticipation as he listened to Jake get the lotion and come up close behind him. He felt his mouth water when Jake spread his legs and slid the tip of his finger in. Heath tried to breathe and willed himself to relax. He had never felt so vulnerable, and so sexy.

Jake rotated his finger a bit and pulled Heath onto his hands and knees by his waist. Heath loved being moved and lifted, loved the strength of the body above him. Heath pushed back onto Jake’s finger, so ready, wanting to give everything he had. He could hear Jake’s ragged breathing and felt himself being stretched, tremendous pressure, a tight burning along his entire backside.

“Ah…uh….God!” Heath choked out. Jake pushed a little further and Heath held onto the edge of the bed next to the wall, swatting the pillow onto the floor.

“Mmm…burns,” Heath managed, exhaling sharply and gripping the bed tightly."

10. "Heath chewed at his bottom lip and tugged on his earlobe. “Can I be a complete wanker, for one minute? I just want to hear it once, and never again will I be such a fucking girl.”

“I love you.” Jake’s eyes hovered somewhere between Heath’s nose and lips in an expression that whispered, “Come here…”

Heath closed his eyes and leaned into Jake.

“I, Heathcl…,” he began, the rest of his words tumbling into Jake’s mouth. The kiss vibrated restlessly between them as Jake sucked in air before he broke the kiss gasping. He leaned his forehead on Heath’s shoulder.

“Don’t fuck with me,” Jake murmured while tugging down hard on the belt loops of Heath’s jeans. Jake’s habit of pulling on his clothes had left him with a growing collection of torn T-shirts and underwear. It suited him just fine, actually."
 
 
subsequent
25 February 2008 @ 09:52 pm
favourite lines from "Ronin", chronologically

“Can you step out for a second?” The driver was flooring it and he would reach the address in a few minutes but Jake needed this time, anything not public, not restricted.

A smattering of laughs and a muted exchange slipped into a private silence.

“The fuck have you been; thought we were going to meet up for a bit,” Heath grumbled.

Jake smiled into the receiver. That’s more like it.

“Flight was delayed. Can’t you come downstairs?”

“I could but…” Jake knew what Heath was thinking and he was right.

“No,” they said together.

“It would look…”

“Yeah,” Heath sighed. Jake could see him chewing on his thumbnail.

“Goddamn this fucking shit sucks ass,” Jake hissed.

“Have you been hanging out with Peter lately?”

“Yeah, why?” Jake answered.

“Because your language has deteriorated tremendously,” Heath sniffed.

“That’s not all that’s deteriorated, tell you that much. Jacking off is losing its charm quickly.” Jake buttoned up his blazer as the car approached a nondescript building on the Upper West Side where Sam kept a nondescript office.

“Is it ever charming?” Heath mused.

“It is when I do it,” Jake insisted, “wanna see?”

Heath’s chuckles clicked lightly in the back of his throat, and Jake knew that laugh belonged only to him. It wasn’t your everyday laugh about a good television commercial or something adorable your child had done; it was the sort of laugh shared by two people who were sleeping together.

Heath eyes ferried his thoughts to Jake across the table as he mouthed what looked like two words but was only one:

Bathroom.

They went separately to a bathroom on a different floor; Heath getting there first and checking the two stalls before pulling Jake inside.

Jake fell onto Heath and crashed him into the metal door, holding onto a coat hook inside the stall as they swung into the wall. Heath kicked the door shut and Jake slid the lock closed with thick fingers; swollen under the pressure of a surging blood-rush.

“Can’t look like two people in here,” Jake whispered as he sat on the toilet seat and pulled Heath’s waist to him.

Heath sat on Jake’s lap and hooked his feet into the pipes of the plumbing in back of the toilet.

They wrapped their arms around each other and squeezed.

Heath tried to grind himself closer but just held on. “Can’t move, no leverage,” Heath panted against his cheek.

“It’s ok, I got you,” Jake grunted. Months of cycling had brought Jake’s body to a new level, arms supporting, legs flexing, moving Heath against him; controlling him with a trembling strength.

“Oh, fuck…uuhhhh…shit,” Heath groaned.

“Shh, no noise, no noise,” Jake hushed.

“Can’t…Christ…missed you.” Heath slumped over him and let his arms dangle over Jake’s back like a sleepy baby.

Jake kissed around Heath’s hairline. “Almost time, can’t stay,” Jake said gently, keeping a slow tempo with his hips.

Heath pulled Jake’s shirt out of his pants. “Fuck this, let’s just go, just make up some shit...ahhhh…please.”

“We can’t. Have to do this. Just a little bit…longer, ok? Promise, I’ll make it up to you, give you everything you need, got it right here,” Jake soothed, thrusting up.

“G.”

“Mmm?” Jake murmured, stuffing his hands into Heath’s back pockets.

“This is so bad, fucking aching, everything aches.”

Jake stopped moving and looked into Heath’s eyes. “I know, I…”

Clomping footsteps stopped Jake short and they clutched each other as the bathroom door squeaked open.

“You know what to do,” Jake said to Heath’s worried expression.

Heath bit his lip. “Stay still, let him come to me, hear his voice, go from there.”

Jake threw his hands in the air. “What the fuck? You don’t need me.”

Heath moved closer to Jake, leaned over and smelled his neck, licked and bit him hard there.

“I always need you,” Heath whispered.

“We’ve been in here too long with the door shut. Go, before a photographer jumps out from behind that plant,” Jake smiled.

Heath walked backwards to the door, holding up two fingers. He turned into the doorway and was gone.

Two weeks.

The streetlight hit Heath’s right eye at an angle that ignited an unsteady twinkle. Heath crinkled his nose and shifted the spread of freckles that looked like he had drawn them himself with a cocoa crayon, and had decided to keep them because he was happy with his work. He drew his bottom lip between his teeth in a way that let Jake know he had more than vodka on his mind.

They traded smirks as they got into the car, always finding something funny about actually seeing each other.

Heath shifted and twisted where he sat. “I hope you like these, and I don’t know if this will be what you want because it’s not like, say, a stunning piece of jewelry but I have no taste so I thought I would give you something I can do and there you have it.”

Jake emptied the envelope of its contents. It was a series of black and white photographs mounted on stiff matting board, each one bearing Heath’s initials.

The first picture was a bridge.

“That’s the Williamsburg Bridge. It was taken from the roof of Chris’ building.” Heath took the rest of the pictures from Jake and held them up one by one for him to see.

“This one is of my garden and everything is in bloom and well, I thought you might like to see it.”

Heath turned over the last picture. It was a view of Manhattan across a river that was running alongside a fence lined with benches.

“And this is the Promenade.”

That shot required no further explanation; Heath gave the photo to Jake to hold. Jake gazed at the place where Heath’s eyes had offered his heart and Jake had seriously considered hurling himself into the water rather than confront the insane mirror reflection of his own face, in love, again.

But love had found him despite his best efforts and the photograph he held made him feel ashamed that he had contemplated playing deaf to its beckoning.

He took Jake by the hand and twirled him slowly, holding Jake’s balance with wired current spooling from his fingertips.



“You in a dancing mood? Let’s dance, then.”



Heath pulled Jake into his chest, checking for the crooked smile he knew would be on Jake’s lips, kissing that smile until it grew wider. He put his arms around his waist and dropped his head to Jake’s shoulder, singing:



“Oh I’ll never know...what makes this man

With all the love...that his heart can stand

Dream of ways...to throw it all away”



Jake stretched his arms over Heath’s shoulders, hooking them at the wrists. He pulled back a little and looked at Heath, his eyelids blinking lazily, licking his lips.



Heath brought his hands down lower and spread his fingers over Jake’s thighs.



“Gravity...is working against me

And gravity...wants to bring me down...”



A slow stroke along Heath’s spine through his worn t-shirt turned into a tug, Jake pulling on the frayed collar as he kissed him with the wet blues of the music, not rapid or busy, but hollowing deep all the same. Heath heard the cotton rip and felt part of his shoulder exposed.



Jake turned Heath by his bare shoulder and held him from behind, his arms crossed in front of Heath’s chest.



Heath leaned back into Jake’s step, massaging shoulders and biceps. He could feel Jake sigh against him, grinding a little, bringing his slender fingers down to the place between Heath’s crotch and his navel that was nowhere and everywhere, common and intimate.



“It’s wanting more...that’s gonna send me to my knees,” Jake crooned into Heath’s neck.



“This is risky business here, I see a future without breakfast,” Heath murmured.



“Risky business, very clever,” Jake smiled, squeezing tighter.

“Yes, and I’ve got something to show you.”



“Yea, is it the same thing you showed me when you gagged me?”



“Heh. No,” Jake chuckled.



Jake had been bursting with this revelation since the artist left his house two weeks ago. They had toyed with the idea of buying a bracelet for Jake, but nothing seemed right. They looked at rings, exchanged pictures of necklaces, but still, nothing moved them. Finally, Jake dreamed of something while dozing on a train, a flash of what he could do to symbolize the relationship that they were both learning how to protect.



He unbuttoned his shirt and turned his back to Heath. He dropped the shirt to his waist and heard the loud gasp he had paid $500 for.



“HOLY FUCKING SHIT!” Heath yelled. “I can’t believe you did that!!”



Heath felt around the spot on Jake’s shoulder blade. “Can I put my hand to it or is it tender still?”



“You can touch it,” Jake replied.



“Good on you,” Heath murmured pressing his fingertips along the vivid outline.



“You like it?”



“I fucking goddamn love it,” Heath gushed, taking Jake’s face between his hands and kissing him across his jaw, hovering over his ear like a hummingbird, breathing quick and deep.



“Mmm…let’s go upstairs,” Jake purred. There was something about being in the brownstone with Heath that was making him feel alcohol-buzzed; lusty. They had never had sex in this house, but Jake wanted to. He wanted to know how it felt to sleep in Heath’s bed. If he were being honest with himself, he would have to admit that he didn’t ever want to leave, and that he had felt that way for a long time.



“Something else first,” Heath said excitedly. “Your new ink has my mind going wild. There was something I wanted to do while you were here and now…argh! It’s going to be even better!



Jake shook his head. It was hopeless, sex would have to wait. Heath was bouncing, and he couldn’t be stopped once he got started.



“This better not be something crappy like chop down a tree or paint a room. I hate it when somebody invites you to come over and hang out but then says, ‘hey, I need to get rid of this beehive, you mind helping me out?”



Heath was already dashing around, gathering lamps and lugging more camera equipment out of a closet in the living room.



“Taking pictures? I don’t wanna do that,” Jake whined. “I do that all the time, you’ve got to be kidding.”



“I don’t dig this light; we’ll go upstairs after all. Grab that sack for me,” Heath said over his shoulder.



“Yeah, why don’t you grab this sack?” Jake called after Heath, holding his crotch.



By the time Jake had stomped up the stairs (muttering a different curse with each step), Heath had stripped the mattress and set up a few lamps around the bed.



Jake looked down at the ball of sheets Heath had tossed on to the floor. “Haven’t we gotten into enough trouble because of naughty pictures?”



“Precisely, now we can do whatever we want.”



“But I don’t want to do this, posing for pictures is boring.”



“Sort of like biking first thing in the morning, isn’t it?”



“You suck.”



“Take off your clothes.”



Jake frowned and pulled off his shorts and underwear; stepping out of his sneakers.



Heath spread out a sheet and motioned for Jake to stand on it. He reached into one of his equipment bags and pulled out a small can.



“Is that a can of whoop ass?” Jake asked.



“Shut up, God! Did you treat Vanity Fair like this?” Heath asked, rolling his eyes. He fished a small brush from the bag and popped the lid of the can.



“You would be amazed at the things those make-up guys will give you if you ask. They love to talk about all the shit they do. This is what they use to make it look like you have greasy dirt on you, but it wipes off instantly if you need to be clean for the next frame.”



Heath dipped the brush into the can and painted a stroke across Jake’s chest.



“Eeee, cold!” Jake cringed. He looked down at the drying stripe on his skin. “Cool, this is way better than the stuff they used in Jarhead.”



Heath painted smears of “dirt” all over Jake’s face and body, including his hair.



Jake wrinkled his nose. “So is this some sort of lofty artistic statement or is it just beefcake porn?”



“Why can’t it be both?”



Jake looked up at Heath and saw the hint of a tepid smile, but there was no mistaking the hurt in his eyes that tried to retreat before Jake noticed it.



Jake started to apologize, but he knew that ‘I’m sorry’ had its limitations, there was a better way to say it.



“Leave it to us to be ass-backwards. I proposed to you after an argument, we came up with our vows on the floor of an empty apartment, consummated our union on a hotel carpet, held the ceremony in a bathtub in Africa, and now we’re just getting around to the wedding photos? What kind of gays are we?”



“The kind of gays that have a picture of my pubes in OK! Magazine as their wedding announcement?” Heath offered.



“I like your style, boy. I’m ready to work,” Jake smiled.



Heath positioned Jake on his stomach on top of the bare mattress and moved some of the lamps, testing and tilting the light. Jake watched Heath as he made his way around the bed, and he felt himself getting hard against the busy blue fabric. He could see Heath concentrating; working towards a vision in his head, moving things until whatever he was seeing in his mind’s eye materialized. Heath’s intense focus brought Jake’s lust back from downstairs where he had left it.



“Bend your knees, then cross your feet at the ankles,” Heath directed while looking into the camera.



Jake crossed his feet and tilted his head.



Heath lowered the camera and squatted down. “Don’t pose for someone else, pose for me. Make me want to get into bed with you.”



Jake dropped his head and let his arms hang off the front of the bed, raising his shoulders and arching his back.



“Yea,” Heath breathed. “That’s it.”



Truthfully, Jake loved being photographed. What he didn’t like was the process: Apply make-up, fluff clothes, re-style hair, re-apply make-up, wait while shot director moves cameras, re-fluff. But the shot director had never been Heath, and he was surprised by how much he liked watching the technical aspects.



He lifted his chin and lowered his eyelids, letting his tongue rest on his bottom lip.



“Mm-hmm,” Heath said approvingly as he moved in closer.



“Hold still and let me step over you so I can get a look at your tattoo from up here.” Heath stood on the bed and pointed the camera down at Jake’s back. He hopped down and turned one of the lights off when he was satisfied with his shot.



Jake rolled to his back and looked at Heath upside-down. “Hey, are you that Heath Ledger dude?”



“Yes,” Heath answered with a sly grin.



“Weren’t you in that gay flick with another guy, I think there were horses in it?”



“Yes.” Heath stepped back, still looking into the camera’s viewfinder.



“Give it to me straight. Did you fuck him in the tent? That looked like real actual fucking to me, except I watched a bootleg copy that I bought at a street fair, so you never know.”



Heath taped a bunch of lighting wires to the floor so he wouldn’t keep tripping over them. “No, that would be pornography. The tent was an important cultural moment in American cinema.”



“Why can’t it be both?” Jake grinned.



“Be quiet, please. This isn’t as easy as it looks.”



Jake turned back to his stomach. “I read on justjared.com that you have a huge dick, is that true?”



Heath put his camera on the floor and doubled over with laughter, clutching his stomach while his face turned pink then red. He put his hands on his hips. “My dick is all over the internet, and I must say, this is the first time I’ve ever laughed about it.”



“Really? Ok, I’ll look it up. Does it have its own URL?”



“You’re in rare form today.” Heath sat on the edge of the bed and scrolled through the shots he had taken.



“So the guy in the horse movie, did you stick your tongue in his mouth?”



“It’s not a horse movie, it’s a love story. And yes, I did,” Heath sniffed with mock irritation.



“No shit! I thought actors didn’t do that, like when you do a McDonald’s commercial, you don’t even get to sip the milkshake, you have to pretend.”



“You like milkshakes?” Heath asked, swirling a pattern over Jake’s ass with his finger.



Jake turned his head to the side, put his cheek against the mattress and winked at Heath.



“Brings all the boys to the yard.”

He walked a teetering circle around Jake. “What’s this?” Joker asked, poking at the edges of his tattoo.



Jake turned to face him. “My wedding ring.”



“Oooh! Who’s the lucky guy?” Joker chortled, waggling his eyebrows.



“I think you know him.”



“Tied the knot, did ya?”



“Something like that,” Jake nodded.



“How sweeeeet...” Joker taunted. “Your, ‘wedding ring’ as you say, it’s a samurai?”



“Yes, a Ronin, a masterless warrior.”



Joker’s cheeks drooped as he smacked his lips slowly, leaning in close to Jake, kissing the lipstick on to his lips, smudging hash marks of white paint on to his face.



“Are you a warrior, Jacob?” he murmured.



“I...I want to be,” Jake whispered, “I’m becoming one.”



Joker grabbed his shoulders suddenly and crashed their foreheads together. “There’s something in my pocket!” he gasped.



He draped himself over Jake, rolling his eyes in a manner both comic and disturbed as he pulled a long scarf from his pants pocket.



“Do you know what this is?”



Jake took the scarf and stroked it, held it to his nose and breathed in deeply. “This is the scarf...from Morocco.”



“Yesss...and what did you do with it?”



“I gagged him with it,” Jake said dreamily.



“NO! Tell me, like a story. What did you do with it?”



Jake wrapped the scarf around Joker’s neck and pushed a corner of it into his mouth, kissing over it and through it, losing himself in the fantasy and the memory. “I-I put it in his mouth and tied it behind his head.”



“And then?”



“And then I fucked him.”



“And then you fucked him?” Joker repeated irritably. “Please be as detailed as possible.”



“I put him on his knees, leaned him over the edge of the bathtub, and I slid my dick in his ass.”



Joker closed his eyes and smiled. “What next?”



“Then I gave it to him as deep as I could, I made him cry and I made him scream.”



“Yes...yes,” Joker clapped. “Hubris, arrogance, bravado, more...more...!”



“I know where all of his spots are, every single one, and I hit them all, until he didn’t know whether to beg me for more or beg me to stop.”
 
 
subsequent
18 August 2007 @ 12:22 am
we are back to the we we were in the beginning
and as freedom litters my bedroom floor, a pattern reveals

& i don't want to admit any fucking thing
but i certainly hope november won't come down hard this year.
 
 
hear, hear: you know all the concrete buildings all grow stale you say as i look up dreaming
 
 
subsequent
negatives of future photographs etched down to stay in my memory. to convey like i still believe, and don't let only stains of drained emotions be expressed. ink polaroids reinvented 01:12 AM because we challenge our faith slowly, ever slowly. the need may have a stride, at least it is portrayed truthfully in earlier renderings of older renditions of my ribcage.

*

i have a hard time getting out of bed in the morning -- i have a hard time letting my feet rest on gravel. i have a hard time remembering in any sort of chronological order, emotions clumsily scatter; the hair on his arms all over again one afternoon in January. a portrait of my lingering eyes in early September, overcome with the sensation of old sparks ignited. quiet mornings not always happen to be the same. the percentage of liquid in the human body never to be forgotten, spring 2005 imprinted just the way it never ceases to cling to my chest in all its honesty. i haven't seen or spoken to her in a year now, but i will never forget how it felt to hold her hand while we ran across the street. i will never forget the experience of ease dawning upon me as she returned to the grip of my hand and neither will i forget her lips against my warm cheek one evening in September, both of us overcome with the need to (re)assure. i remember i burst into tears on my way home, safe on the train yet unaware of the proceeding world. sometimes when i was fifteen i thought the hues of gazes that started living comfortably in my groin was the best memory to save. the words we carried were loaded guns and in our gazes salacious thoughts were projected onto the lenses of our own minds' cameras.

i never thought it would be hard to concentrate on his hand motioning with a pen in hand, but last week it was. i struggled to shove momentarily recklessness out of my consciousness and for the first time in years i felt like i had nothing to hold on to. i didn't know if i could stand to let him touch me only because i needed it, i didn't know if i could stand to let him look at me only because it didn't matter to me anymore.

all i could feel was shimmer and cold. partly i was relieved and partly i was angry because the changes came all of a sudden, and i hadn't seen it coming. there will always be a dream about watching someone pour tea in a kitchen late at night. i will always wish to have someone to sleep next to -- but it will be somebody new, and perhaps that will be just as good as it used to be, perhaps it will be even better. at least the dream about that experience will never cease -- and there are only good things to learn from the details i have discovered so far.
 
 
feeling extactly like this: crumpled sheets.
hear, hear: come on hunger come on faith come take care of me
 
 
subsequent
the nearness i sought made my security evaporate. i used to let it all down, didn't stop the floodgates from bursting, just kept focusing on the purpose i carefully hid behind my stream of consciousness. at that time i needed someone to see it all; i needed someone to see the stains on my ribcage as well as hearing my laughter behind closed doors. i remember it well, that one time i cried in front of him ). i was inconsolable: the breath clogged in my throat, i couldn't spell the words right, just sat there, my voice filled with snot and fear. i remember i forced myself to only look at his hands motioning more or less clumsy, sign language forgotten. the intensity of the moment amplified as soon as i was aware that there was nobody but us who heard his attempts of reassurance and my sobs. his fingers roamed over my spine, he reached out to cradle me, and i could hear him swallow past the lump in his own throat.

i let it all down, and i let him watch. i saw him in the paper yesterday. and the more i look at the photo, the more i realize i finally have a photograph of him. i never really got the chance to photograph him.

*

my tears stumbled down my cheeks at wednesday just because i couldn't help myself with drawing up the lines perfectly correct. he didn't react at it, he just gave me a bigger paper to write on to make me stop fiddling with my ruler. i took the paper, and he smiled, the smile grew to a sound i can't exactly describe in any other way than that it was like he said don't cry, please, it won't help you here and i returned an apologetic nod. later that day, i was near bursting with tears again, i was so nervous about the presentation of my theme in psychology, and he looked at me as if he didn't understand. it is hard against hard, and that is not what i want, because all i get from it is apathy. i still let it all down, i still let him watch, but it is because i need to stay true to myself, need my feelings to be laid bare no matter what. and i am not who i was two years ago, i don't need the confirmation i needed back then. the nearness i seek makes my security evaporate, but i've learned to be comfortable with it.
 
 
hear, hear: daydreaming, bed scenes in the corner cafe
 
 
subsequent
they give each other space, they carry a sincerity, they share a laughter i don't think anyone but lovers share. her unruly hair tied in a tight ponytail, his dark red velvet jacket unbuttoned. there is a glint of green behind them, glimpses of the skin on her collarbone. he looks down, something is weighing on his eyelids and she looks at his stubbled chin.

there was a time where i had a person who shared the same kind of laughter with me, the kind of laughter that they shared. his neat handwriting and my thoughts ferried to him through glances that grew to be so meaningful, the glances grew to gazes telling i can't take my eyes off you. our conversations where we sat in staircases, sentiments seeping out in the light, seeking confidence. his fingers reaching out to touch my upper lip, his laughter saying you know i love you when i frown of his brown suit, the only suit he has.

i want to share this kind of laughter with someone again. i want to carry this sincerity, this ability to give each other space and i want us both to discover all the tiny details. i wouldn't mind if she is the one i'll be sharing this kind of laughter with. i wouldn't mind at all.
 
 
hear, hear: i held my breath and you said something.
 
 
subsequent
27 December 2006 @ 02:32 pm
i look at my father and i wonder what will be left of him when he is gone, when he is no longer able to win over the war in his body, the cancer. he has no leftovers, and he is no sincere human. if i was somebody else and not his daughter, i would see a man whose gaunt features are blurring, a man whose hands holding on to the pieces of a life he has learned to be comfortable with. as his daughter i should see a beloved father, but all i see is a man who has learned to keep the marring memories of his childhood secret, a man who doesn't allow himself to believe that his feelings are worthy of the experience -- he is like a starving man turning away from a meal, like a tortured man refusing relief. i look at my father when he attempts to give me his reassurance, but i cannot believe a man who falters to believe he himself is worthy of his own soul's reassurance. there is nothing but defeat to face for this man who happens to be my father, but the defeat was already there and has been there for a long, long time.

i look at the boy who gave up on time while i counted the days, i look at him and i read the words he sent me at christmas eve. he said he wished me a merry christmas, and he hoped that i was happy, that i was feeling joy. i like that he concerns about me; i like the fact that i am still important and that he dreams about me at night. there is hardly ever time for him to see me and he seems to be keeping his distance in every possible way. that is the simple reason why i ask myself which motives are being behind the words. what he is i do not need.
 
 
hear, hear: and i'm sorry that you need hollow consolation
 
 
subsequent
14 December 2006 @ 12:09 am
(i clearly recall him saying "i need to do the dishes." he sat on their bed, and his eyes signaled that he needed space, he needed to take a breath and rewind, wanting to say out loud "it feels like i've got you on videotape inside my head, like i need to keep you there to remember that your fingers cause my body to tingle", but he said nothing, and you held his gaze tenderly, soothing.)

i'll smile and i'll write down the most beautiful lyrics, the most beautiful lines from the books i've read. some day i'll read her my favourite line. my toes curl with happiness because i've been allowed to stand next to her behind a bookshelf, i've been allowed to preserve the good-natured silence. and i hope - i hope i can keep these words like safety, i like to take step for step; to set the pace together.
 
 
hear, hear: read me your favourite line.
 
 
subsequent
07 December 2006 @ 07:49 pm
sometimes i wonder how they manage to stay so close after all those years, after all those issues they have had to deal with. (they manage to let the nearness remain, and i want that too.) the way they give each other confidence, and the let the words be an extra safety. the glow in their eyes, the bracelet around his wrist once given as a present by G, the bloom not to ever be forgotten. lying next to each other at night, aware that every night might not be like this, touching the strands of hair, the molasses and tracing the veins. the moments shared through the years making them stronger; every glance stolen, every word filled with hidden sentiments, the minutes of lingering in front of each other late at night, the whispers always the same: "if i don't need you, then this isn't love."
 
 
feeling extactly like this: it is hard to convey softness
hear, hear: dancing through the underground dancing little marionette
 
 
subsequent
her quiet glance drawn towards the teapot while pouring red tea. the book i held in my hands; reading aloud while i sat beneath the sink in her kitchen. the street lamps outside the window cast patterns after midnight, a heap of woven hoops. as revealed fears evaporated, i was no longer lingering. we were so close there wasn't even room for sighs to pass between us. ink polaroids: the display of redeemed endearments, still shifting come morning. glimpses of the blazing gazes - not stealing glances, but staring full on in silence.

a growing heart, a pulse, bluewinged butterflies in the small of our backs - i feel it and i want it to keep being that way.
 
 
feeling extactly like this:
hear, hear: he cracked his chest open to reveal his heart
 
 
subsequent
02 December 2006 @ 12:02 pm
i have caught his gaze in photographs: his eyes are evidently struggling with which path to choose. i never managed to prove that this could be a redemption, to convey that my perceptions could include both of us. ambiguous like blazes, but from time to time i didn't want him to understand. i still don't think he saw the knot combining the corrosive need and the perpetual heed.

his hands roamed over my chest, my thighs, the nape of my neck - his reticence scattered my consciousness. quietness never was a hollow consolation and i would rather want him to possess the back of my knee. the back of my knee does not have many belonging memories, it is not like he is sleeping with my earlier ghosts there.

i needed to feel, and he needed to prove he was capable of giving. we kept beating about the bush; i counted the days and he gave up on time. i still wonder, i still question myself: what kept you so long? was it the fact that his hands had been lingering in front of my body? was it the fact that his eyes gave me the impact of vulnerableness? i still remember i was stood in his mouth, counting minutes as he kissed my neck. i don't think he ever realized that kissing my neck was a bigger surrender than to let his hands touch the skin inside my thighs. i felt all the tremors he couldn't keep to himself yet his hands weren't trembling.
 
 
 
 

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