Fall of our freshman year-

full of the confusion of ourselves and our connections to our pasts.  An
english class, and a question:"have you ever been in love?"  Both of us
sure that the other made the first move towards physical contact. Holding
hands in secret at the science museum.  Ears nibbled with thoughts of
eros.  Passion in the lounge of Carmichael.  Holding hands in secret in
your moms car.  Other relationships hanging over your head, guilt that the
outsider not from your past will be seen as interloper to the people you
need most.  A would-be sweet prince in a black hat- hats make people look
sincere?  Your mom saying hang on to this one, he's pretty smart.  That
incredible green sleep shirt, pulled against your breasts.  Annoyance of
roommates.  You never wanting to stay over to sleep. Lighting and crew and
herbal teas and an under the weather Rosetta.  Silent conversations by
laptop.  Dinners together, and a pile of unfinished crosswords.  A
breakup, a reconciliation, more confusion.  A blizzard, a phone call, the
word "no".  Another half reconciliation.  A cold sore, a flood of
mistrust, an ending.  A chocolate orange, a tin robot.

Time-

Me finding Marnie.  A summer in Cleveland.  Borrowing friends accounts for
e-mail, telnet connections that broke in minutes.  Letters about the
sounds by the sea, e-mail of tissues and cash running short.  More
letters.  A word: "enough".  A question, enough of that letter, or should
the pining end?  A long pause, like a long drawn-in breath, "yes".  You
finding Wally.  Finding something, somethings, that you never have never
found me, a relationship with elements I wouldn't understand, a
willingness to be unique to each other that I never met with, a throwing
away of a box of love tokens because you had love, the Real Thing, then
and possibly forever, one that might weather the storms.  A breakup, the
return of toothbrushes.  Electrons gather dust. Questioning of a
sexuality.  K., and S., and bottles thrown out to sea.

Fall of our Junior year

an invitation, pizza and beer.  an acceptance.  singles.  a return of the
silent conversation, the wonder of a big nest chair.  What would have to
happen for us to touch again?  I'd have to be brave enough to reach out,
you would have to brave enough to accept.  I was.  You were.  *We* were.
For a time.  Walking through leaves 'neath October Skies.  A question-
would we be able to keep this kind of contact?  You seemed touched at the
question, answered yes.  and then- distance.  Schedule madness?  Waiting
in the hallway of Eaton, just to see you, frustration, confusion.  A
Russian chick, also unwilling to part with the person of her past, anxiety
about him, about my feelings for you.  Too anxious just to talk with you,
willing to run to see you. You crossing Professors Row when the space got
too tight.

Time-

Another summer.  Seeing each other at the campus center, a group I wasn't
part of, that you weren't happy in, you magnificant in summer tank tops
and shorts, stunning.  A movie, Woody Allen, the atheist, comic god.  A
new laptop, no silent conversation.  A long walk to a bus, a questioning
and loss of that good night kiss.  Invitations, tv filling the heavy wet
summer air with electric blue light.  Spooning?  Watching you sleep.
Kahlua, ice cream.  More invitations.  Walks to Harvard Square.  Time in
your room.  A reconnection, a kiss.  Another.  A suspicous parent.  Some
joy.  Letters typed on office time, the description of a feeling that it
was natural and no surprise, my delight at you breaking the silence.  New
singles.  Mono.  Moving in.

Fall of our Senior Year

No kissing for now, but touch, lots of it.  Visits.  The enacting of a
position of touch found in a dream.  Talk.  Potential for more, and more-
talk of making love, talk of being held.  Lilac-scented skin cream.  So
much seeming beautiful, so very beautiful.  Standing together in front of
a mirror.  A fall festival, sitting together and comfortable.  The start
of classes. Bad schedules, insane.  Never seeing each other. My hope that
we would.  Moons going by, my continued hope.  Fiction written, musicians,
comments from you.  A fear of the fall falling like the autumn before.
Gerry, angry at so much, except for you.  So many people willing to be so
much for you, people who wore black hats with more sincerity than even me
freshman year.  The distance between uphill and downhill seeming very
great.  A movie, henry & june, I thought it was so important for us to
see, you sitting on my white chair leaning back, allowing me to touch you.
(soon after, the white chair, worn from its exertion, became a footrest)
Exhanges of can tops, once secret, in front of the Russian Chick.  A
napkin, an alien now saying 'take me to your bed or lose me forever"  A
dinner with friends- Several (did she say Seven?) hours.  Another caught
remark, "haven't had a boyfriend for years" "tell me about it"  you said,
and I ached, wondering what I couldn't be.  Never finding those several
hours.  Never making up a Thursday night cancelled by a rehersal.
Concern, e-mail, one way, always e-mail.  Loss.  A brunch, a loss of
words.

And now-

A dinner with a third.  You finding someone else?  One you mentioned as
admired from a distance a long time ago?  I don't know.  A cancellation of
Tuesday night to write a computer program.  Finding you downhill more and
more, but not to visit me- so rarely, it seems you would ever come to
visit me, even during the times we both seemd to feel some of the same
potential. That potential still felt here, but- not there? Questioning
everything we ever were- real wonder.  Wishing I knew why I could never
get through to you- thinking there is something I can't provide for you,
trying to find it.  A memory of a rule: "never having the same
relationship twice": wondering if we ever had that relationship at all....
Miles Davis cover of Round Midnight now on the CD, after two of Enigma.
Starting a huge long, rambling, letter, then making it electron dust, then
this.  Remembering you saying you wish I wasn't so prose-ally gifted.
Thinking that it really hasn't helped.  I've lost you, maybe never had
that part of you in the first place, but still feeling its loss acutely.
And always wondering, what happened, and what didn't happen.  Hoping
against hope that these words will find a way into your head, and
resonate.  Hoping somehow I could be a part of your life again- hoping I
could be *that* part of your life, hopng that this history we've shared
meant as much to you as it does to me. Thinking that this would make an
interesting piece for the fiction class if it weren't for all the
incriminating details.  Tough to make that stuff up.

Remembering you saying you wish you had the time to write me, to tell me
what you were feelng, hoping you can get that time over the long weekend.

Longing for you so much, so much.  Touch, conversation, warmth, your
eyes, your lips, your thoughts, your feelings.

1:19.

Good night, Beautiful.