OK, so I am sitting here in my apartment (alone), and I�m not afraid (except when my neighbor�s garage door opens and I think that one of the planes that frequent overhead is crashing into my living room).
I am listening to Ian and I am giddy that 2003 has in its short six days already been better than all of 2002.
A miracle happened today. Albeit a small one, but a miracle nonetheless.
I found him.
For the past few months, I have (on again, off again) been digging and searching and hunting for someone. And I didn�t find him on Yahoo! No, no. I didn�t locate him through information, nothing like that. Nor did I hit gold when I borrowed some passwords from a friend and accessed the drivers license bureau and other restricted sites.
I found him by remembering, by recalling that which I found so intriguing and inviting about him. I found him at tall mallow. He shared this interest with me over a cigarette on a cold fall day. He couldn�t explain his attraction to those words, but he knew they would be useful someday. Little did I know they would be useful to me, too.
His email was there, and it, of course, came back undeliverable. So I left him a voicemail.
Some might find this desperate, but my real friends know that just putting myself out there was quite the victory. Even as I type these words I am fearful of the inexplicable way that things fall completely apart as soon as I express my desires out loud.
I found a dangerous hole the day I realized �I am in the book, so clearly he hasn�t been looking for me.� But I tell myself that he must think that there is only woman he can share himself with completely, there is only one woman with whom he can let down his guard, one woman that shares his same secret.
What I want to tell him is that I am the only woman that respects his talent and his mind, and who is as fond of his eyes, his skin, his hair, his lips. And knowing all this, I am the only one that knows he is so much more than all these things.
And I could not care less about his little secret. It pains me to think I had the slightest reservation. I was being tested to see if I deserved his love, and I failed miserably.
So now I hope and I pray that I will hear from him. Because I do deserve the kind of intense chemistry we had. Maybe it was all in my mind. And every time the phone rings (and it�s not him) I feel the pain all over again. Maybe some sweet winter day in 2003, I will get my big miracle. I will, of course, be all out of acts of God, but I will have no regrets about spending both of them on him.
He is the only �more than friend� I ever dare let read these pages. He was struck by the way I wrote of Mr. Louisiana. Wasted words. Please, dear God, let lightning strike twice.
Let it burn right through the core of me.
9:38 p.m. - 2003-01-06
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