pins and needles. Here comes Coco
with her new brush. It’s too much pressure.
Dare I say I’m able to relax, concentrate
on other things? Like thinking about
yesterday writing love, love, love, worry,
love, future, love. He promptly and
sweetly responded, but LOVE? I ask at
Mel’s and he says it once, “I love you
sooooo much.” Sitting on me Friday
night, watching the holes in a stranger’s
ears, corner of Powell and Post. To
which he replies “I need you, too” and
“I will go wherever you want, do
whatever you want, so long as we can
do this sometimes.” The lady next to me
breathing down my neck. Sometimes.
Maybe. Not long as. I fall off the couch
with too much love or panic attack. But
I told him I wouldn’t have it any other way.
