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in the skin of a lion

Tuesday Aug 16, 2005

I miss being under someone’s skin.

I used to have that. Knowing someone so well that at times you knew them better than you knew yourself.

Knowing why they react because you knew their story and it made sense.

I used to have that. I knew this boy. He knew me and although hideously complicated, it was the simplest connection I’ve ever had.

And I miss having someone get me. And knowing why I react to things because they knew my story.

And fitting together.

Emotionally but also physically.

Not only figuratively but literally fitting together. That when you curled up next to each other, your head rested in the curve of their shoulder, your hip against the line of their stomach, your leg fitting neatly over their upper thigh and your foot fitting perfectly on top of theirs.

That I miss the most. It’s a physical ache at times.

And this boy? This relatively new boy? I want this with him. God I want to get him.

But being pushed away by someone is terribly lonely. It makes you doubt why you’re doing it. And so you try different ways of getting him, and understanding his reactions but there’s a wall up every way you go. And then you just can’t look anymore. No matter how much you want this with him.

But there’s no bitterness. No more cynicism than usual.

Just a sadness, because you know that though they’ll always push you away, put up that wall, you’ll still always want to get under their skin.

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