Flinging

I met him, and then again the very next morning, snuggled up in my bed. Oh, hello.

And let's not get confused: this is new. This flinging. But it's also: honest. I'm trying very hard to be honest with myself and my decisions. To know that this is a weekend fling. To know this is one of those tiny nuances that create The Big Picture. This nuance that adds up, that desensitizes me to further nuances; to further flings. As long as I'm honest and know that it is what it is, it is what it is, I'm alright.

Let's capture it, shall we? Alone on my porch people watching smoking Indian cigarettes my cat clothes clothes who needs clothes? Asleep. Then: awake. Awake. Should I cuddle should I keep my distance let me try both methodologies. And no cuddling. No closeness. Alright. I'm awake. He's sleeping. He's sleeping.

I gave him my copy of White Noise because I thought he'd enjoy it. I left a message and signed my name, and hoped that this makes me cool and collected. But does this inscription actually make me narcissistic to the point that I must leave a tangible mark on his life? To the point that I did the thing again, the leaving my entire name instead of just my first initial, because I worry I would be easier to forget with just the initial.

Obviously, I need more flings.