And the rest is silence
Nothing from the boy since the weekend. C'est la vie. Could mean something or nothing. Feeling just a tad wistful.

That kind of moment, of soft lips on mine and skin under my fingertips, only comes into my life in these discrete, sporadic bursts. And it always leaves me wanting more.

I saw another guy on Saturday night, one I've seen a few times. We have these great online exchanges of thoughts and words and ideas, and then when we're in bed, silence. And I'm realizing that, when it comes to sex, I'm aural. I need sound and conversation and laughter. My need for words goes beyond my writing and my love of conversation. To be really fired up, I need to hear, to listen. To be listened to. And while everything reached the inevitable climax, I was and am, left unsatisfied.

There have been more online flirtations. Strictly in the type, type, type sort of way. Sort of pre-flirting. And there may be some possibilities there, but who knows.

I want that ineffable feeling I had with the boy. The words. The invisible knot between us where what I am connects with what he is.

It's hard for me to take connections and friendships and relationships on faith. I come from a fairly solitary, undemonstrative childhood. With some early, imprinted lessons in "If you transgress in some way you weren't warned existed, I will unilaterally terminate the connection we had"

I need reassurance. I cope without it and am able to stand on my own feet. It's just a nice layer of icing on top of the cake.

On a completely unrelated note, I struggled with the first chapter of the book I'm working on, the follow up to the one I just finished (writing in third person) As soon as I switched to first person in the voice of the lead character of the previous book, it flowed like water. Hmmm