I told him I wanted him to be more selfish tonight.

I know why now. Perhaps it is the sleep talking. But maybe I want a reason. . .I want him flawed. I want for him to find something, someone more interesting.

I really like this one.

He wants to know what I'm really thinking.

He wants to hear my voice on his answering machine, my laugh. He likes it when we hold each other.

I like all that too.

He said something tonight that he's said before, but that I'd only understood for the first time.

We should take it slow. Be friends first. Because we need to be friends. First.

I think he finds me mysterious because I can't open up to him. I can see why people feel comfortable with him, and I do too... but then I realize the risk with liking him, and I crawl back inside my shell.

And I realize...

It is too late to type this out on the computer, so I am writing in the orange wire-bound notebook.

Notebook of yesterdays. There was a loose page in here that was supposed to be a letter to Michael. It's ironic. The letter said that I was afraid Michael'd disappear like James...or even Don.

Those three were either in letter, email, or brief physical contact....and so I realized, with Dave, the stakes are that much higher. It would hurt, so very much.

My mother's two cousins are visiting. It's a little cute. My mother hasn't seen one of them in four years. And I can see how close they once were. It made me smile to think of the black and white photo my mother has framed of her and her little sister, with the two cousins sitting on cement stairs in a park.

It made me think about my cousin.
*s*

My cousin-cousins are soooo cute. They're from England, five and eight years old. And they giggle when not jabbering in accented, high-pitched voices.

I do miss you.