i still want to be in the endless blue verse.

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17 february 1997

6:49 p.m.

Dear diary, I know I'm hiding. Hiding from a question. And I think I've done a pretty good job, too -- the last time I got nabbed was months ago. But last night it caught me again. I felt it, in fact, when I was writing to you. But damn me, I decided to just go to bed. I figured it'd be gone in the morning. Instead it was waiting for me. Waiting on the dresser, smelling sweet. Waiting against the ceiling, reflecting a sliver of light turned red in a dozen directions. I went to the beach, splashed by rain though the sun stayed out, and the question followed me. "Derek and I are friends." That answer won't do now. Now there have been countless sunsets, moonrises, movies, ice cream cones, kisses... the answer to the old question has changed. Never mind "dating" versus "seeing eachother" -- it was just a game of semantics. Yes, we're a couple. Yes, when I'm myself, I consider Derek my boyfriend. But the new question hits deeper than that. I can't even bring myself to voice it. Is it love? Ah, the word. A prayer and a plague. Stamped on five billion cards mailed to five billion people; printed on pillows, candies, condoms; thrown around to make a good rhyme... easy to say until it might mean something. I don't want to answer. Who ever said I had to? I am the one asking, though -- ultimately, it's my question. I want to know. "If you don't know," the me of old would say, "the answer is 'no.'" Yet I can't accept that. But it isn't "neither," nor is it "both." Why can't things just be? Why the rush to define, to confine? Maybe I want the answer to be "no." Or, better, "not yet." Hell, it fits. Comfortably, even. I've worn it so many times, after all. In fact, it might as well be "no," seeing as how we danced circles around "yes" on the night it was meant to be the star. The thing is, I like things the way they are now. Not the chase, not the... kill -- just somewhere in between. Savoring the catch. Indulging, simply for the fun of it. No guilt. There shouldn't be any, anyway. He's the first guy I hooked up with after the last one, the Almost The One, the nameless martyr who's still probably getting my mail. I knew, then, that I just needed time to play, keep it light. Shallow. And I could see myself having fallen for any of a number of other people. Closer to my age, closer to my... temprament. Of all the guys who could've been the victim of my melodrama, why'd it have to be someone so normal? I wasn't supposed to be thinking so hard, so deep, so soon. Do I ask him? Or wait for him to say? (Damn it, was it him I told, "Never say it first"?) How tragic it would be, for us to be quietly waiting for the other to answer the question that's torturing us both. How tragic it would be, if our answers are different. I'm sorry, I'm just running at the mouth. I'll just stick some chocolate in it and maybe everything'll be fine tomorrow.