Louder than Logic (Nfld part 5)

November 24, 2017

I had this whole thing mapped out as I sat on the plane, Panda barefoot and snoring next to me.
I was going to write one beautiful article about one magical night I had away and leave it at that.
Laptop was stored securely in the overhead bin, I didn’t have a chance to write it down.
We finally got home after touching down in 3 cities, losing ‘Iris the rogue passenger’ that got off the plane when she wasn’t supposed to (and subsequently became my power animal), and a tow truck pulling my car 2 hours the rest of the way home…I looked at my plants, I went to my room and I pulled his shirt out of the Ziploc, curled around it and went to sleep.

I am trying to untangle the now from the then, for literary purposes.

Here goes.

No, you didn’t miss part 3 and 4, they aren’t done yet.



Apparently I have become George Lucas.

Can’t seem to follow a timeline at all.

Funny how I can turn one boy and a week of my life into a novella, and I might yet. Change our names, get a little more crass and graphic, recount every tiny detail. Make up a happy ending. But for now this will have to do.

The club we were working at had a few pre-programmed playlists. I heard things I have never heard before and things that hit me with sweet nostalgia. The girl I am remembering the girl I was when I had them on repeat way back when, and laughing at her.

One of them being

Hope dangles on a string
Like slow-spinning redemption
Winding in and winding out
The shine of it has caught my eye
And roped me in
So mesmerizing so hypnotizing
I am captivated
I am


Dashboard Confessional.

I was vindicated. I was finally in the exact right place at the exact right time.

Yesterday I said that words had begun to fail me, and  this is why I am hesitant to write about 1:23 one day to 1:23 the next. I can’t articulate what happened exactly. Except to say the world fell away and I think I went home.

Or the closest to home I’ve ever been. Heaven in a hotel bed.

I can find some words. I said his eyes were absinthe and they are. I said us meeting was like stoking a bonfire, all sparks and warmth, the kind that comes from combustion and burning.

But other things. Like when it was over, the only words that would come were “we’re supposed to be here” and “right” and “better” and “good”.

And my favorite “magic”.

I haven’t yet mentioned the next day, as I stood outside the club texting him, that the manager walked up to me and knew exactly who I was talking to by the look on my face.

It had been 7 hours and my body was going through what I can only imagine felt like the emotional equivalent of heroin withdrawal.

I’d sat on the horrible green couch in the cathouse and cried. Like I am crying now. The logical part of my brain saying “someday you will be grateful that you got to feel this once, try being grateful now”. And I tried. But the craving is louder than logic.

Panda got up 2 hours later and found me on said couch. Saw my eyes, heard the cracking and wavering in my voice, said “I just woke up, keep it in check for a bit.”

So I tried.

Once I was given permission I tried to articulate what had happened and failed. Beyond saying I have never that content for that long of a time. Yes, I have been over the moon happy before but it’s fleeting. I went to heaven for a night then had to come back to earth. It was a hard fall.

Even now, the craving hasn’t subsided.

You know the thing babies do, when they are peacefully sleeping and the corners of their mouth draw up into a smile? I was doing that on the plane, I would close my eyes see his face, mostly his profile as we were driving around, see him clearly in my mind’s eye made me smile in my sleep. Then the sting of tears would hit my eyes, I would wake up and try again 5 minutes later.

7 hours of that.

I meant to leave it where it was.

I said my goodbyes and had wrapped the memory up in gold paper with a ribbon, to be opened later and likely often. Said I would take what happened and write it down as a chapter in a book, and I will.

I liked it there, on that rock. The food was good, we were treated incredibly well by almost everyone. When the final tally happened the money was good. I heard tales of icebergs and whales and I wanted to see them.

And I had a regret.

I only have one picture, it’s of me smirking in bed while he was having a shower.

I took two mental photographs that night with him. One of him sitting up in the big white king sized bed, grinning at me as I walked back in the room and one that couldn’t have happened but somehow it did.

He was tired when he picked me up. Drove me to Cape Spear anyways, killed some time before check in. But he was yawning and apologizing for it and in all honesty, I didn’t want to wait. My internal dialog just sounded like “boy” and “bed” on a repetitive loop. Once we got into the room it was straight to bed, all snuggles and touching.

He fell asleep for a minute, with his head on my chest, arm draped over me. I wanted to take a picture like that. But I didn’t want to wake him or be creepy. But I imagined myself doing it regardless. And for a second, left my body and saw us.

And good god it was glorious. Even the angels were envious.


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  • Robert Wertzler November 24, 2017 at 9:15 am

    It is magic when, unaccountably, another human being simply feels like home, impossible of analysis.

    • sexloveandgrace November 24, 2017 at 10:25 am

      that is exactly what it was

      • Robert Wertzler November 25, 2017 at 9:36 am

        And so rare, whether a friend or a lover, and the more so when both.

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