confession: i wasn’t in the mood to go, but we had tickets, and i figured you felt the same, and you did, and we went, and i vented some bitchiness on the way, and then i mocked his dubious broken heart, and then you shocked me with your love story twist, and then we started drinking, and then we laughed and were inspired and fell more smitten with billy, and it turned out to be the best ladydate ever, another three-hour tour. thank you.
confession: ladydate. as a woman who loves dating women, “ladydate” is a new-to-me hetero-girl term that cracks me up. i’m stellar at romantic lezzie dates. i bring flowers and champagne and make reservations and wash my car and wear lacy lingerie…and depending on how many previous dates, i’ve left prettily packaged lacy lingerie on your doorstep that you found waiting suggestively when you came home from work. with you, everything is new in its non-romantic platonic in-love-fullness…and i get to wear comfy underwear.
confession: i answered the call yesterday that i knew would come eventually, but i wasn’t prepared. his father died. i loved his father. i wanted to hug his father at least one more time.
confession: i buy myself flowers now, but they aren’t as pretty as the ones he used to buy for me.
confession: i can remember her touch, but i’ve almost forgotten the sound of her voice.
confession: i hear myself say the most surprising things when i sneak past my tendency to self-edit, like “i think i want to have a child…again.”
confession: i stood next to him to avoid you. it didn’t work. you approached me anyway…twice. thank you. (p.s. your actions result in my increasing respect and admiration for your grace while highlighting my confusing awkwardness.)
confession: i saw the pattern and recognized the lesson and wanted to slow her down and help center her in her own knowing, but i couldn’t. i sat quietly across from her and listened. i echoed her words back to her, the significant words that simplify this situation, but she didn’t hear them when she said them or when i repeated them. i paid attention to what i told her and applied those words to myself.
confession: she gave me her pendant, one she wore for months, one i never would’ve chosen for myself, one i don’t take off because it was hers and she gave it to me wrapped in tissue paper tied with pink string around a dried garden rose.