Archive for the bruce wayne Category

pleasures

Posted in bruce wayne, cusak, thoughts with tags on Sun, 02 Nov, 2008 :: 306/44 :: 22:45:22 +0000 by anaïs' little sister

I am watching one of my favorite films right now as a sort of birthday icing treat, Le Fabuleux Destin d’Amélie Poulain. One of the most striking things about it for me is the little things Amélie takes pleasure in. Sticking her hands in bags of grain, skipping stones.

I am struck by my own simple pleasures. I too love sticking my hands in bags of grain, cracking the top of crème brûlée. I love the feeling of clean sheets on my skin, and the way Cusak’s breath tastes when we kiss. I love Bruce Wayne’s superman curl (right in the center of his forehead), and the sound of rain on window panes.

The simple pleasures are certainly some of the best.

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forever

Posted in bruce wayne, cusak with tags , on Sun, 31 Aug, 2008 :: 243/35 :: 22:42:56 +0000 by anaïs' little sister

It’s such a huge word, forever, that it scares me when they use it. And yet they do, and I’m drawn into it, picturing myself, happy. Settled. 2.5 kids. A pet. A house behind a fence, even if it’s not white picket.

Sometimes I wonder how the whole of me can fit into that box. How do you squish the kinky sex, the hyper-literate, the intelligent, the huge heart of me…into a woman with a house and kids? How will I reconcile two husbands with the life I live outside? How will I decide who goes to work things, how will I know how to label myself?

The world is not set up for people like me. People with a Cusak and a Wayne. People who know that they love bigger than the world is used to.

But as (t)he(y) is(are) fond of saying, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.

scattered

Posted in bruce wayne, cusak with tags , on Wed, 25 Jun, 2008 :: 176/26 :: 08:54:04 +0000 by anaïs' little sister

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.

need

Posted in bruce wayne, cusak with tags on Wed, 30 Apr, 2008 :: 120/18 :: 19:22:07 +0000 by anaïs' little sister

It’s a constant, the absence. No matter which one I’m in bed with, I’m aware that the other isn’t there. I close my eyes to brown ones, wake up to blue, it doesn’t matter. I’m conscious of it.

Complimentary, and different. One is like gravity, always there, always pulling. Needs me, and isn’t afraid to make it clear. Tells me so, asks after me, puts me on a pedestal. Holds me up and says I’m perfect. (I’m not. I’m flawed. We’ll get to that eventually, sometime when I’m ready to dig into the dark night of my soul.)

The other seems like he could leave me behind. Maybe that’s the appeal. That as I am aware of the distance, I know it closes by choice, not habit or addiction. I wonder if it’ll ever be bridged. I wonder if he holds me at arms length to keep from getting hurt by the fact that there are two of them.

I won’t tell either, but I need them both. I need the reflection of myself as perfect, flawless, sparkling like a diamond in the sun. And I need the space, the freedom, the impossible single moments of romance, tumbled up in silence, broken apart by laughter as we both flinch from intimacy. I’m addicted to the conspiratorial whispers and the praising tones.

Everything is found in the cracks in between.