I want to capture whatever this was when I am in a less-familiar part of the City in the rain or see a face I think I know. The number of potential matches is increasing more rapidly than ever. I’m getting better at remembering names.
I didn’t realize how blatant I was by myself (how many of my paragraphs begin with “I”) and the jolt would have hurt if it wasn’t so relieving. Forcing a pointed interest in what I already knew I liked brought out the blemishes; usually I just force myself to find those directly but this method is more constructive.
I only hope that in the endless fleet of faces drifting out of my life, there are more I hope to encounter again, one day, than avoid.
I wish that when I act unusually, when I dance to my favorite song while the people around me mill with their mixed drinks, that the one who approaches me doesn’t consider her collusion a gag. My desires come from a place of intensely undeserved privilege. Is that redundant?
Every Drunk Girl Thinks I’m Gay: The John Holdun Story