He was once the man I loved more than anything in the world. But he was also the man who would never be mine.
She’s beautiful in a dramatic, romantic way. Her face could inspire gothic novels from long ago. If Helen of Troy’s face could launch a thousand ships, Violet McQueen’s face could launch a thousand stories, all filled with lust, heartache, and death.
I stand up and then scoop her into in my arms like I’m some kind of hero. Only I’m no hero. I’m just a man in love. Though there’s never been anything more courageous than loving someone.
I would have walked over burning coals for you, just to have you in my arms. I would have put the whole world in jeopardy just to be inside you again.
Time is an incubator. In some cases, it changes people. In others, it lets things grow and hatch. Too much time and it turns into a monster.
The surf was out of control and wild. The wind was powerful. So powerful it was hard to stand up. But I felt free. So damn free. It was beyond euphoric. It was practically cathartic. Spiritual. I remember so clearly the feeling of that wind sweeping off the Pacific, assaulting my face with brine and secrets from the deep. I closed my eyes, held my arms back like I was going to fly. The sun beat down on me, birds flew close to shore. I’d never felt so in tune and connected with the world before.
Tell me you love me,” I whisper. “Tell me you love me, and I’ll tell you I love you more.
But with knowledge comes confidence. And with happiness comes creativity.
He’s staring at me, almost in awe. “What?” I ask him. “Your face.” I’m breathing hard, my face hot from orgasm. “What about my face?” “I’ve just never seen you come before,” he says. “It’s more beautiful than I thought.
Parents just don’t understand,” I said into the blanket, my voice muffled. “What?” she asked. I rolled over and gave her a weak smile. “Will Smith was onto something.
I don’t think I will ever be the same. No. I know I won’t be. I can’t be, not after this. There is no going back. And then I’m hit with a sledgehammer made of heart and truth that feels like its blowing me to smithereens. I don’t want to ever be with anyone else. I can’t be with anyone else. I want Linden and I want him forever. Tears spring to my eyes as I clamp them shut and think, You’re it, you’re it, you’re it. All this time you’ve been it.
His body pressed against mine, our mouths joined, the heat we created, that felt right. That felt more than right. That’s the us that should have always been.
I don’t want to loose them. But as I look around the table, I’m wondering if that’s just he way things go in life. Age brought us together, age will tear us apart.
You’re still in love with her. She makes you want to live life. Personally, and this is just me, man, if I ever met a woman who saved me that way, I’d devote some temples to her or something. That’s how the Taj Mahal got started, I’m sure.
The connection between us is tight and frightening, and the intimacy is nearly too much for my heart to swallow.
This man is no longer just my friend. He’s no longer my Laz in that sense. He’s a man that I’m giving my heart over to, whether he knows it or not, whether I want to or not. There’s no reasoning, no deciding. It’s done.
I love him with every part of me, all the whole parts and the broken parts and the parts that are still mending. I.
I want to feel him again, taste him again, hold him again. I want to see what he can do when we’re both free of restraints, free of the lines we’ve drawn up around each other but never dared to cross.
I don’t want to be brave for anyone else anymore. I only want to be brave for you.
I love you. I’ve always loved you. And I am absolutely, brilliantly in love with you.