writing in the raw: love’s labours won

i really didn’t have time to write much. but i didn’t want anybody else to take this evening either. it is the last writing in the raw i’ll do from the states for a while, so even with a sparse essay, i think i’ll keep it for myself.

actually, it’s after 10pm as i start writing this. so it will be brief.

i’m packed. ready to go. exhausted. i’ll definitely blog from the airport tomorrow. i usually pay to get into the business lounge… for $45, you get fruit, cheese, coffee/tea, cookies, alcohol, tv, internet and a little desk from which you blog, and a comfy, quiet place to zone out for a few hours. premium wine/alcohol will cost you… hey Mu, might be one of the tips for your travel space.

okay. so that’s it.

well, and i’ll explain the title. just a bit.

getting on that plane tomorrow is amazing. there have been difficult times and yet, somehow, ej and i managed to hold onto to each other. over the phone. one-line e-mails. packages filled with small fetish items. a sense of humor. and well, we just get along. whenever i’m with him, by heart rate slows (unless you know…), i become very at ease. i smile a lot. i’m actually funny when i’m relaxed and not thinking about George Bush et al.

i sleep really well when i sleep with him. and when we get up, he has this funny little fresh face, squinty eyes and he’s smiling. maybe he looks a little like a baby bird or something. but it touches my heart. and it inspires me to get up and make coffee and cook breakfast.

we hold hands. we like the way each other smells. we think it’s funny when strangers fall down or break something in a store (but we don’t really want anybody to be really hurt). we love to go to museums. or find secret gardens. we like to wander in cities and towns. oh. and we both love madly medieval cathedrals and churches.

he likes to cook. i like to eat. he likes to complain. i like to sit, cross-legged, and listen and laugh at him and how he, in a very animated fashion, counts off each absurdity with his fingers.

i tell him everything has a shelf life. if we’re lucky, we’ll just die together, around 99 years old, in a plane crash or car accident. because i always see us together, old and beautiful. and i just know i’ll love him even more then… the two of us always walking, looking at the world together, my hand in the pocket of his old jacket.

this is one of those moments. when love wins.