The Gazelle (Or, the “F*ck Fest”)

I saw him yesterday, like a beautiful gazelle running in the wild, though this time on bike path off Broadway going up The Hill.  I froze for a second in a wave of awe, pain, want…regret.

Then, I had a fuck fest in my car.  By fuck fest, I mean I screamed and swore to the heavens in the safety of Surry, my silver Subaru.

It wasn’t fair.  Why did I have to see him if I can’t have him, if he doesn’t want me?

Later, the question turned to “why does it still hurt so much?”  Again, I thought “this isn’t fair.”  I let the pain subside as the tears rolled down my cheeks.

Fuck Fest (Part 2)

(This was written a few months later, about 2 weeks after I had once again seen “the gazelle” when we passed on bikes as I was dropping off a library book.  Apparently my first fuck fest had worked…I said “hey” with only a tinge of lingering pain.)

Fuck.  I’m falling for another boy…and it will be at least 3 weeks until I see him again. Does he like me?  I think so.  But I’m not really sure.

We had hours fly by with just us talking.  Does that mean anything?

I want to write more, but I’d be going around in circles.

Fuck.  I don’t want this.  But I do.

Regardless, I have a dog.

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