roses by the stairs

[This is how we work it out.]

It was time for a conversation. The fidelity tremors, the friction, the hanging unfinished sentences. We had dinner and felt sleepy and went home. It's hard because we both want it to be effortless, because we don't always get much time together, because I'm careful never to place demands on his time.

"I'm envious of your life," he said. Right now it's a mid-winter low of career uncertainty and stress and grind. My life is social, full almost every night of the week with a fete-à-tête, decidedly less industrious than his. His face has this resolute strangeness that he's kept hidden; I've only felt it from a distance, unsure of what it was. We talk about what's going on with him, us, me. He talks about how he's hesitating because I'm always moving, I talk about how I'm hesitating because I need clear signs before aligning any orbits.

"I'm falling in love with you," I said. It's been true for a long time. His eyes went unmistakably misty.

[Friends and people like them]

We have dinner and it's like a Catherine Keener flick. Those who are closer exchange knowing looks; the conversation is somewhat dominated by idiosyncrasies but forgiven. We're all caricatures of ourselves sometimes. The food is amazing and in the end we know this is important, this eating together being together thing.

How many more times?

[Work sucks. I know.]

My boss is a little crazy tonight and I get an email from a pen of fury, but not directed at me. The joys of a CC. This may mean that work is going to have some upcoming changes, hold on for the ride. I'm doing it for beer money, a reference and some experience. I'm getting an eyeful.