Will write about today tomorrow
I had such a great day yesterday. I want to talk about that. I want to describe how it felt to sit on the grass outside the front of the state library. While the sun shone and the sky was as blue as and vast as how my heart felt as I sat there on the grass with him laying down, his head propped by his back pack. His legs outstretched in the sun so as to try and dry his pants that had milk spilled on them as we sat in Thousand Pound Bend drinking tea and eating toasted sandwiches. I want to talke about how seeing him and talking with him for the better part of a Monday, made me remember why I had decided to keep him as a friend. Why I could not keep up the bruised ego hating on him for not loving me. How I am happy to count him as my favorite person regardless of where I may sit in his friendship levels. It matters not.
He is my favorite.
I did not get bored even once. From the time we met at Melbourne Central station, under the giant broken clock. On the curved red bench where so many people sat looking at there phones.
‘I like to sit here,’ He tells me. ‘ I like to watch people and when i get a call asking me why I am not home yet, I say it’s because I am sitting at Melbourne Central, being a creeper.’
It sounds weird to say it, but, I guess I have chronic renal failure to thank for my decreased libido and thus ability to hang with the person I find the cutest in the world, without any. . . discomfort. Or with out any disapointment that he finds me so sexually blah. Why shouldn’t he? I am quite positively ‘blah’ about sex in general. I am like a super hero who has lost its superpower of seduction. Not that I am claiming that seductive sexiness was a superpower of mine. It is just that I have been told I am sexy by enough drunk and only half drunk people and been told by enough creepy old men who gate crash poetry club at The Moat, to assume there must be an element of arguable truth to the view point.
So hooray for not being sad that the cute friend does not want to sex me up big time. Hooray for a loss of sexual appetite that allows me to sit across from the little guy genius, who can make me laugh in horror and glee. Who can make me feel like I can do anything, NAY and shall do anything. Who sparks my imagination and makes my grey matter hum. Who proves me wrong. AND I LOVE IT.
As he lay on the soft grass he he showed me where the milk had spilled on his pants. I leaned over and traced my gaze from the crutch of his grey king gee trousers down his left leg. I was aware this required looking at where his penis was sitting safe and free from my gaze tucked neatly away flacid ( i assumed) and dozing beneath his trousers and cotton boxers. I may not have been dying for sexy times, but, it would have been nice to rest my head in his lap or to simply lay down beside him with out ears inches apart as we both stared up at the sky and the tops of trees and buildings. But if I did lay down on the grass I would not be able to look down at his face as he spoke, watch his mouth move and see his smile as he speaks with me.
Yes, I want to talk about yesterday. Yesterday was wonderful. I would like to him everyday. But, I know that is just not the way things go. It is good for me as I have said again and again.
There is poetry in the wanting and not getting. That is the thing with wanting things. He will remain a wonderwall. It is like what Chris Rock said about how a woman can dismiss a female friend with little to no turning back, yet a male friend. A male friend is different.
I do know though.