I wanted to write a breathless entry. I wanted to write of last night and a discovery I made about my body, about myself, about a feeling that I've been misinterpreting for most of my life, but there are times when thoughts and sentiments and memories of experiences catch on something unexpectedly. And there's a pain like stubbing your toe--sharp and intense, and it changes the course of your walk, your momentum, your view of the path through which you're walking.

And you're left with rawness.

And a decision that presses more strongly to be made.

My stomach presses towards self-preservation. It hardens, then melts, then turns upside down, reacting to my feelings. It is as confused as they are as to what to do.

But even as my stomach sickens and heals and sickens again, I have been lowering the barricade around me. I have not only allowed her to touch me, but I have let myself melt with her touch.

And I have fallen in love. There. It is written, and I am almost embarrassed, for there is something incredibly private in the way my body is experiencing this love. It came slowly, building and riding on my breath. It came like a gift wrapped in butter-yellow tissue paper. Like a chenille blanket falling to a hardwood floor--heavy but hushed.

It is not what I wanted from this.

It is not what she wanted from this.

But like the first deep snow burying sounds, I cannot overlook it as something small.

Do I hope and keep this warmth as long as possible? Or do I leave and hurt from my own actions instead of hers?

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