I don't think our journey is done yet.
You're so highly intellectualized, so smart and calm and ineffable, that I forget how charged your life is with the sexual, the erotic, the lovely. Even if it's not the usual expression of personal physicality, the things you read and encounter and digest and share with me (with that little attachment of "this makes me think of you, a little" under lines about submission) remind me how dissimilar we are.
I could never have lived with your restraint, but I love the intellectual openness it's given you now.
listening to: All At Sea // Jamie Cullum
reading: Love and Death in Renaissance Italy // Thomas V. Cohen
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