sarahrose: (Default)
Bella,

Writing you a response to your latest LJ post felt like the most a-propos way of sharing the things that have been on the tip of my tongue for you.

I want you to know that I'm moved by you - your presence, your touch, your smile. That I stand here, at the cusp of something incredibly profound with you, and I'm prepared - I'm ready - to take your hand and jump into exploring the depths of that together.

You say you've tired of quasi-relationships, and I can't begin to tell you how hugely that resonated with me. I'm done with luke-warm false beginnings, and want to seize this, whatever "this" is that we're creating the foundation of, and see it through with intentionality, intimacy, and absolutely abandon.

Join me?

With love.
Sarah

sarahrose: (Default)
posted by [personal profile] sarahrose at 12:55pm on 28/08/2009 under , ,
She wrote me a letter late last night,
It said "I'm touched, my Sunbeam,
by your beautiful surprise.
And if I may, my dear,
take a breath to collected my thoughts,
And then tomorrow, we'll share
in fruit and cakes, in the sun on the dock".
sarahrose: (lips)
I wrote you a letter today,
It said "I think I could quite love you,
and I was hoping that, maybe, you would join me?"

I'm sitting on our dock now,
The one at the lake down the street from my house.
It misses you here -
We were left alone together, people mindful of infringing upon our space,
But now it's just me and people are crowding.

Will you step up, my dear,
past the Second Wave,
and see just I much I have for you?

I wrote you a letter today,
It said "I'm moved, my dear,
by your presence and your skin,
by the curl of your hair and the curve of your breast".

I met a woman, a little while ago,
and I guess we're deciding right now,
on our own and together,
Whether or not to jump ship with all abandon.

We spent a night together last weekend,
Kissing and touching
and breathing and whispering

& I woke up in her arms.
She was waiting for me to open my eyes
(My eyes are opened wide, dear heart)
and she met them,
her smile spread
and she kissed me, then said, simply, "hello".

(Could I begin to tell you just how earth-shatteringly intense that was, my first time waking in the arms of a naked woman, the smell of the massage oils we'd used the night before still on our skin and on her sheets, her hands exploring my flesh?)

I spent the rest of that day in shock, in tears, in awe, this energy stuck behind my heart; spent that evening on the steps of the Arts Gallery with another beautiful queer woman, learning to move the heartstuckstuff, gentleness, then made my way home to my own bed, to my own lover, the one who knows me like I know the lyrics to Under the Bridge which I learned at camp when I was 8, to release some more.)

"I'm tired of quasi-relationships, and I want something real," she wrote. And there, for how damn tongue-tied I'd been to tell her the very same thing, the words were ripped from my own mouth. "Me!, Me!, See Me..." I wrote back, which I then delivered, wrapped in a flower, to her doorstep on the chair that sits on her porch.

("Right then, I wanted to draw you," she said.)
sarahrose: (lips)
If I was compelled to update my FaceBook status to reflect with what's really going in my life and head and heart these days, it would read some amalgamation of:

Sarahrose is ---

-- grateful for too many bottles of wine and intertwined limbs on a blanket by the lake with a boy will always remind me that he carries my heart throughout his vagrancies, and the potential space to explore the lips and heart of a woman I've adored for a very long time.

-- working in an underpaid and overstressed position, but aren't we all.

-- full with dark chocolate and strawberry crepe.

-- amazed by how beauty- and wonder-full it has been to witness the birthing of love between her partner and her good friend, and saddened by the struggle and fear that's caught us up in.

-- maybe going to start learning to hoop tonight, but, then again, is rather in need to some time with her self.
Music:: Mirah - The World is Falling
sarahrose: girl-love (cheerleader)
She held on, as a memento of our second date, to the wine bottle that we shared on the dock by the lake.

She wraps her arms arms me in embrace and whispers that she likes my curves.
(And her lips find mine.)

She took photos throughout her week - of the sunrise she catches at 5am, and the flowers blooming in the garden she tends - for me.

We played show and tell with the tattoos nicelyinked across her body (her wrists, her chest, her lower back, sprawling her hips), and I fell in love with the texture.

--


She's got me kinda heartblown
(and so this is where I get terrified).
(I remembered, tonight, after many, many months of the not-so-nice polystuff, the delicious polystuff. YES.)
Music:: Joan Osborne - "St Theresa"
sarahrose: (lips)
Friday Night,
an in-night with R: I'm bringing over cupcakes and beer for snuggling on the couch while we watch Dirty Dancing (he's appalled that I've never seen this movie before).

We've been dating, casually, for a month now; my time with him is always simply delovely. I'm not blown away by sparks, by desire, by that almost-overpowering sense of Connection - at least, not yet, anyway - and that's perfect as-is: he's absolutely rad, and we can talk really comfortably - there's no awkwardness there, you know? Plus, he gives delightful foot-massages.
 

Saturday,
during the day, Matthew and I are looking at making our way down to Granville Island to meet with the artist that we're commissioning to do our wedding jewelery. M and I both fell absolutely in love with this design when we stumbled upon it in an Etsy shop, and we've decided to work with someone local to create wedding rings with the acorn and oak motif. We're also looking at getting this artist to make me an engagement ring in the same design that would incorporate the stones in my current ring. I'm really excited at the prospect of
 
then, in the evening, my Second Date with E... Her roommate's throwing a vegan barbeque at their place, and so I'm accompanying E to that. I wrote her this morning suggesting that we take some time to sneak away to the lake that's down the street from my house with a bottle of wine and some ganache-covered strawberries for some one-on-one face-time before we throw ourselves into the gathering...

Our first date... it was magical. I think I can safely say that it was tied for the most heart-blowing first date I've ever been on  -- I was literally speechless with giddiness once we parted after, having lingered over our pitcher for as long as we could get away with. Our goodbye was an incredible, intense embrace and kiss. Here's hoping I can keep my cool --- have I mentioned that girls who I Really Like make me as nervous and awkward as if I was a 16 year old boy?
 
Sunday,
I'm spending the afternoon with Christy-Belle.
 
Ah, ma Belle... Tomorrow will mark the one-year of our first meeting. I sat curled up in one of those big overstuffed chairs in a cafe, awaiting her arrival, my nose in a book. I saw her come in my periphery, but I nervously and steadfastly kept my eyes down on the page, unable to make out the words on it. A dear friend wrote me a beautiful piece today, about how my presence in her life has triggered some wonder-ful and huge learnings about female connection -- those floodgates - the discovery of the power, magnititude, and depth - are precisely those which Christy opened up for me when we opened our lives to each other.

And so, on Sunday, Christy and I, we will celebrate: this year of intertwined lives and love, her upcoming birthday, and this glorious summer that's finally been ushered upon us.

I still find my heart sore for her some days, but how could I ever hold her with anything but grace, friendship, gratitiude, and love.

Music:: Alanis Morrissette's cover of King of Pain
sarahrose: (lips)
via [livejournal.com profile] bethofalltrades

But then, when and where I least expected it, there appeared a crack in the wall. I reached into it and pulled out a crumpled note, my own good advice, dusty and years old.

When given the choice to love or not to love, love. Even when it's senseless, even when it will hurt, even when you probably shouldn't, even when it's complicated, even when it's hard.

I grabbed for a pen, scratched a new line in at the very bottom, and hid the note again for my future self to find.

Especially when it's hard.

Hi.


You showed up to my party, late, with heavy eyes and something of a sheepish "love me anyway!" grin: resurfacing after a month of secluded antipathy (and so, a month of skipped Sunday morning brunches, of derelict friendship, or eschewed attentions).

The evening's festivities devolved as they were wont to: you and me sprawled on my couch after the others had left, mixing the bottom of a bottle of whiskey with splashes of bruised red wine and the remnants of a vodka-infused fruit salad, lost in dialogue. I, relatively absent-mindedly, draped my legs across your lap and payed not too much mind to how high my skirt and slip rode up or the bareness of my thighs in your lap. (I was keenly aware, though, of your hands on my legs, and your playing with the layers of my skirt.) My head wound up on your shoulder, your arms around mine - none of this all too unusual. Then your hands started wandering, touching, feeling - the stretch of exposed skin between my skirt and my shirt, your fingers on my lips, then exploring the neckline of my shirt.

The talking stopped.

You hadn't touched me like this in over a year.

(Really, you hadn't ever touched me like that.)

There we were, wine- and whiskey-soaked, touchy-feely, amorous --

-- "this isn't about me being Barry and you being Sarah," you whispered, grabbing a hold of my neck scarf, bringing my face to yours: "this is about me being a boy and you being a girl... and so, maybe, I think, I think it'd be best if you just went to bed".

We'd been kissing and touching and (I was) (barely, hardly) breathing for some time.

(It was 4am.)

This is a delicate unraveling
Now and then I find pieces on the floor
Tiny little bits that tell me
Maybe I shouldn't do this
Or love you anymore
 
I like touching, and being touched - that physical expression of my connection with those I love and hold close - and so, rather than process your supposed dissociation of the flesh and lips and girl under your hands and lips from Me (Me, your groovy-organic girl with an intellect that rather stunned you; Me, with who you've always known a wild emotional synergy), I did: I went to find my partner in our bed and left you to crash on my couch.

(I heard you sneak out the next morning.)

I got this whole world inside
I was accustomed to showing you
All good things (come to an end).

I love you, my darling boy, even - especially - when it's hard.
sarahrose: (necklace)
I'm feeling really gross, in a "my throat is swollen and I feel nauseous and my head hurts" kind of way. And so I can't really write in cogent, fleshed-out paragraphs. 

Fragments, then:

I went into the office this morning for a couple of hours, to get a feel for the space and the people. Helped set up the office; sorted out my email and voicemail. I was in for only 2 hours and managed still to leave with "oh, dear god, this is a gong show being run by people I have absolutely no desire to spend the next 3 months building and running a Festival with. Shit". Maybe all Festival people are simply bat-shit crazy and frenetic and self-important? Back tomorrow; me and my colleague - the woman I'm running the volunteer program with - are going to sit down and pow-wow our plan of attack. Maybe actually starting in on that will assuage my apprehensions about working with her.

Got a phone call this afternoon to interview for an events coordinator position with the Pride Society. We'll see how this current gig shapes up, and what the more in-depth scoop for the position with Pride is.

Yesterday afternoon was coffee with a girl who's actually bi, and poly for-real, and whose relationship situation seems legitimately stable and wonderful. Have I found my Unicorn!? She gets bonus points for the New Zealand accent, anyway. We clicked really well, which is to say that we seem to be able to talk absolutely openly about everything and anything. So we're now in the midst of swapping thoughts about how we want to shape this and where we see it going (refreshingly novel, being able to have this discourse). (Open palm, Sarah; open palm. The clenched fist has never done you any good.) (But have I told you how madly I yearn for a real, significant, soul-opening Connection with a woman? Have I? I'm trying to hold that not-in-desperation.)

Yesterday night was a Second Date with a boy. I knew with absolute certainty that it was A Date when, once we'd finished our dinner at the restaurant around the corner from his house and he suggested we go back to his place, I found myself feeling nervous and shy and apprehensive in that "Ok, learning to navigate uncharted beyond-platonic territory" kind of way. I met his cats and I poured over his books and movies and art; we smoked his cigarettes (I don't smoke), drank amaretto, and watched half of Shawshank Redemption (which I'd never seen). I Like him. He does heartspace with freedom and ease, which I really value. Neither of us made The First Move while we were there on his couch, but as I was sitting on the bus heading home, I received a text message from him: I wanted to kiss you. I'm shy about these things, still. Next time. My lips were sticky-sweet with amaretto, I thought to myself. That would have made a yummy first kiss. I can be shy too, I wrote back, giddily kicking my feet; let's let each other off the hook and call it endearing. I don't even know where to begin to process the fact that he's trans - that is, in the context of a potential lover - and so I haven't yet.

PS. 
I'm being a Terrible Student right now, typing this rather than listening to my classmates' presentations. I have a silly crush on my professor, I've just decided: she's beautifully and adorably geeky, closes her eyes when she's articulating a particularly complex point, and has a wonder-ful smile.

Music:: Tori Amos - A Sorta Fairytale
sarahrose: (lips)
My current FaceBook status: has had the most bizarre twilight-zone-esque day... Now, to recuperate by, er, watching Doll House (because clearly -that's- the cure for a topsy-turvy, not-quite-right universe).

My date last night went... well? Yes. I think. It went well. (I can't tell... and I can't quite figure out whether I can't tell because I'm not being given positive signals to be picking up on, or because I'm just totally dense and don't have the perspective to see the forest from the metaphorical tree). The plans themselves were rather impromptu: she sent me a message during the day saying that she was up for hanging out that night if I was available. So I took the time to sit down for a yummy home-made cheese fondue dinner with Matthew, and then off I went to meet her for funkily-flavoured shakes at a hyper-hip place called East is East (oh, my, but she's a hipster) (there was flamenco going on in the restaurant!, and they give you little samples of chai tea when you step in the door!, and it was lovely). Then, we went back to her place for the 'wine and movie' plan. (Oh, dear me: "and then we went back to her place".) She lives in an absolutely yummy character house with a clawfoot bathtub, and a loft, and beautiful hardwood. We chatted some - me looking through her bookshelf, her playing me some music from her laptop, me asking questions about where from her intimidating travels the beautiful pieces on her wall came from. Then, we popped open the bottle of wine and settled on watching a lesbian romantic comedy. (Oh. My. God., this evening is such an L-Word stereotype, it's tripping me out.)

And... Nothing happened during the movie. We were laying together on her bed, watching the flick on her laptop.  Our hands didn't brush; we didn't lean against each other. Our legs maybe touched, I think? And then, when the movie was over, at 1:30am, and the bus schedule kind of sucked for getting me home, she says I was welcome to spend the night if I felt comfortable. Now I'm half kicking myself for having chosen the 5-dollar cab ride instead of a night with her. See, this! This is what "dating"(?) girls does to my brain function.

After making another date for tonight via swapped emails this morning ("I'm tickled we've come into each others' lives, and really enjoyed our time together"; "I think you're awesome, and absolutely adorable!"; "yes, let's check out the burlesque festival tonight!, ooh, and tomorrow, too!"), she starts getting wishy-washy ("hey, my friend may come with us tonight, if that's ok"; "oh, er, yes! sure! my friend wants to come, too"). So, my Newfie Friend (/newly appointed wingman) and I end up at my neighourhood watering hole (where, yes, "everybody knows my name", from the dark and mysterious psychology student who serves us beer on our regular Sunday night expeditions and chats me up when I run into him at other pubs in the neighbourhood, to the dude who performs requests every week and yoinks me up on "stage" to back him up on his Ani covers). Our plan is to get some dinner. and then join this girl and her friend at the show afterward.

("I'm having girl problems!," I tell the psych student when he comes up to our table to greet us and take our beer order (honey brown). All he knew of my relationship status is that I'm engaged to Matthew: he looks at me funny. "Uh... like, uh, physiological problems?". I laugh and spill my decidedly neither heterosexual nor monogamous nature. He treats me like I'm an alien with special powers for the rest of the evening.)

Newfie Friend resumes gushing to me about this girl he's had a few dates with and is absolutely, wildly crazy for. Things seems to going smashingly for him with her: they've kissed; have plans to see more of each other; are, it seems, mutually smitten. He'd been sharing random bits of information about her throughout his gushfest, and, all of a sudden, it clicks: this is the same girl who, years back, Stalked (yes, capital S: fake internet identities were involved) my Bohemian Actor Friend. (Oh, bless the Bohemian Actor's teenaged heart: he slept with Psycho Girl while dating her little sister; Psycho then wouldn't leave him alone, for years. In fact, he and I met via LiveJournal, through a mutual local friend. The night we got together in person, one of the first things he said to me was, "Wow, I was worried for a second there on my way to meet you that you were actually this chick who stalks me.."). I text the Bohemian Actor and confirm that this is indeed the same girl. Upon finding out this disturbing piece of his new girl's history, Newfie Friend spends a few hours in an essentially catatonic, blindsided state. Can you imagine the cognitive dissonance?: he was so taken with this girl by date #2 that he'd been angsting about how to bring up with her the fact he's been considering a career relocation to the UK ("and, oh, man, I figure that if we're totally in love by, like, June, I'll ask her to move with me!"), and this person is actually Bat-Shit Crazy with a history of Stalking and sleeping with her little sister's boyfriend.

(And amidst all of this, I called my new friend to tell her that Newfie Boy was in crisis, and we just couldn't make it out to the show with her and her friend, but I'd still see tomorrow, yeah? "Mm, well," she responded, "I kinda wanna go to yoga after work tomorrow; I need to stretch, so, uh, I'll let you know!"...)

(My Newfie friend and I, we've kinda given up on finding a woman to love in this city...)
Music:: Tori Amos - Cornflake Girl
sarahrose: (lips)
I have a "date"(?) tonight... A third "date"(?). With a woman.

(You have to understand how terribly inexperienced I am in matters of dating women.)

For our first date, we met by the lake down the street from my house. We meant to catch the sunset together, but she ran late, and so we found each other in the dark and spent hours sitting on a log on the beach, talking and getting high.

Date number two was brunch (my meal was called "Woman in a Flowing Dress Kissing her Lover"), and goofing off with absurd clothing in a terribly hipster vintage store on Main Street.

Tonight... tonight, I'm packing up a mixed CD and the bottle of homemade chocolate-orange port that's sitting on my kitchen table, and heading over to her place to watch political documentaries. ("Which, well, that might be a little cerebral for a Saturday night," she mused, after her recommendation... Yes: have I mentioned the only that's put me off her was how judgmentally incredulous she was that I'm not particularly well-versed on the political situation in Burma?)

I get so ridiculously uncool around girls who like girls; it's like I'm a 16 year old boy... This one, she's wicked-smart, driven, totally together, has red kinky hair, and about a million and a half things in common with me. I need to stop telling myself she's cooler than me, that I'm totally not enough, that there's no way she could be interested: she's made sure to include time with me in her schedule consistently for the past 3 weeks. She invited me over for wine and movies tonight. I am worthy of the attention and interest of a cool girl. I'm not coming from a place of scarcity. I would love a deep, significant, romantic and sexual connection with a woman, but this is not desperation. I have all the time in the world, and have everything to gain from holding the universe with an opened palm rather than a clenched fist. I will not fear rejection. I will be me, and enjoy my time, and not shy away from how I feel and what I want: whatever comes of that will be absolutely perfect.
Music:: elizlaurel's cover of "Two Little Girls" (Ani DiFranco)

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