scattered

Sometimes I catch Cusak’s hand in mine, usually my left and his right. His fingertips brush against my skin and I’m reminded of the engagement ring. I look down at it. I’m aware of it, then, suddenly. As if I could ever be not-aware.

They know about each other, so it’s not a secret. I’m not hiding one from the other, or trying to live some secret double life. Maybe it would be easier if I were. Maybe I’d figure out that the secret is pretending to give your all to someone while holding something in reserve. But I can’t. I’m not that girl. They both know about how quickly and strongly I pitch myself forward into life. Into love.

**

This was supposed to be a sex blog, but it keeps becoming an emotion blog. A tiny bit of not entirely secret confession.

**

I’m watching Cusak play video games now, nattering with Bruce Wayne on GTalk. It’s a very modern relationship, I think. I tell myself anyway. I convince myself it’s all twenty-first century, and that the only reason anyone’s ever shocked is that they’re not used to it.

Still, I hesitate when trying to figure out how to tell Bruce Wayne’s mom that I’m kissing Cusak too on my wedding day.

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