found an old letter from the girl i slept with (obviously years and years before she got that title). i'm guessing it's from early 2000. at this time i was straight, christian, living in chicago, very depressed, and writing long angst ridden letters to everyone i knew.
"your words embrace me, they suck me in. reading the first page with diddl cheerfully peeping out and being called dearest. i was excited to see and read initially on monday, but tonight this letter is a blessing. i think i look at dreams as similar to poetry. not sure how much stock to place in them. some mean something and some dont. i had a dream of my friend wearing just my underwear. i've dreamt (twice, i think, and not recently) of kissing girls. scary, but i'm not a lesbian. i don't find the subject of your dream strange at all. the object makes me curious. do i mind that you dreamed of a physically intimate relationship with me? hell no. in a (perverted?) way does it honor me? perhaps. but mostly i'm just curious that it would be about me. me who so wants to cuddle and be close(r) but doesn't (didn't) know how. i love when people put themselves close to me but i just don't know how to. i'm afraid of someone discovering this secret mass that bubbles up around my waistband, this softness, this result of nights spent in front of the computer with a half gallon of ice cream. how would you describe your sexuality?"
i wonder if she still has all of my letters. i wonder what i wrote back. it's facinating, in a painful way. to see how we are different- and the same- from each other, and from the past.
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