a l'allure garconniere

of fingernails and flirtations

dans la seuil de la porte.

…today i dressed as though winter were over; as though i cared about this holiday everyone keeps talking about regardless of their sentiments towards it. the kitsch factor is irresistable, though, so i dig up the stained dress i never wear, with a bow-so-girly, so sweet; the opposite of what i feel i am these days. i take pretentious photos of myself alone in my house to try and get a sense of what i feel i am, how i want to frame/present/represent myself. project myself via digital digits-all on the internet. rumours about politics and “legitimacy” and sex keep knocking at my door and i put them all to rest, lay the cards on the table, finally. fuck ‘em, literally and figuratively, i suppose.



with her lips on the back of my neck i thought of his face. he asks me to be his love, his daily love, son amour quotidien, son amour de tout les jours. why am i so shocked by the idea that someone would want to make their life with me? frightened, even, by the idea that someone, anyone could want to (or want to try to) tolerate me for a lifetime. “le chat brulée par l’eau chaude a peur de l’eau même froide.”

quoi? “once bitten, twice shy” sounds so much nicer in french. he knows that my hesitation(s) have nothing to do with my love for him, but it is cumbersome nonetheless. perhaps i get away with a lot because there are words i don’t yet understand, and words he does not understand. he can remember youth, though, but it is hard to express that fear of the unknown to someone who has lived in the same city for fifteen years, the same apartment for nine, and one old lover for 8. spoiled is the only way i can think to describe myself these days. maybe it will come back and bite me in the ass in the not too distant future but at the moment it is blissful decadence. or naive. (probably the latter)



you ask me where i stand, and i show you.

15th-Feb-2008 12:32 am

tearing up re-reading things i wrote years ago. i forget these feelings come back every spring.

(Source: garconniere.livejournal.com)