Up and down the hourglass.


I didn't even want to bother e-mailing this, as I've noticed your daily presence on my site tracker. And you know, fuck it. I'd post this anyway.

And yeah, you're wondering, everyone is wondering. Why haven't I written publicly about him? Hmm.

You know, we were just talking about that. I think it was Monday night, and I had gone out with Tobes and J-Ru and when I finally made it down to the other end of the hourglass around midnight, I threw all my shit in a pile on the floor and said "Baby, I'm not gonna lie to you. I'm a little drunk." I laid next to him all sweet smelling and freshly showered, and I ran my hands through his still wet hair and he poured me a glass of port from a bottle he had sitting on his nightstand. And this is like many nights.

I'm not saying that every night is like this, but I'm saying that it's like this. It's just going to the grocery store and drinking beers and godknows what. We do the same stuff everyone does, and we have the same arguments everyone does, and most of it isn't that noteworthy.

That's about half true.

The other half is that there is one line that he's always telling me that is constantly reverberating in my head when I sit down in front of my laptop, and it's "that's us, not anyone else." Go figure. And so it comes to pass that the quiet, contemplative and reserved songwriter has fallen in love with the loud-mouthed sex blogger, and most days, yes, I do think it is a bit foolish of me to offer him a courtesy I have previously only granted to one other person: that I don't air our shit publicly on the internet.

But really, I mean, I wouldn't really have a whole lot to say. Save...well, fuck. But that, maybe thankfully, is something I haven't found any words for yet anyway. Maybe someday. Maybe even without permission. Who knows. But for the time being, you'll have to believe me when I tell you that you'd likely rather not hear about us walking through the produce section of Red Apple deciding betweeen red or green cabbage or when he's helping me look for my misplaced tampons. Most of it just really isn't that exciting.

Yeah, there are stories I am purposefully omitting, and that's what we spoke of on Monday, if it was Monday. If you'd really like to know, there are three. Of every single story that the two of us have created together, five of them are poingnant and three of those are omitted from retelling. Three. That's really all I'm keeping from you. And no, Alan, you likely wont find out. You can, however, rest assured that whatever it is you're making up in your head right now, it's probably more illicit and exciting than the actual story. What I've omitted has nothing to do with content, but rather propriety.

You have to let me try this for a while.


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