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Sunday, Nov. 30, 2003

And now it's time for the sweetness of the Thanksgiving holiday season to come to an end, and for me to plunge headlong into melancholy.

When I originally got married on Dec 1st, there was no such thing as World Aids Day.(I don't think---I was a pretty aware chica in those days and I think would have known.) But we got married on that day because it was the anniversary of what we considered to be our first date, when a typical long night of "studying" with friends in the Commons room of the Cathedral of Learning turned into a late night coffee at Mr Donut that felt SO LOADED--I can still remember to this day going in to the bathroom at Mr Donut and saying to my reflection "I'm going to kiss him tonight." And the friend who had come for the late night coffee with us obviously felt it too, as he began to sing a little refrain of "I'm so alone, I'm so alone" that we would later incorporate into a song on my first Leviticus album(an insane musical collective started by my ex sweetheart and his roomates.) But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Somehow the conversation turned to Yes, and I held fast to my belief that they were sucky, and that gave him the perfect in. You should come to my apartment and I'll play you a Yes song I know you'll like, he said, and that was it. Signed, Sealed, Delivered.

We walked the cold two miles to his place and we were both so nervous that we had to stop on the way at the Cathedral of Learning to pee, and I had another conversation with myself in the mirror. This one went "are you really ready for this, barely two months after ending your previous eight year relationship?" I apparently was.

We got to his place and I think he made me some tea, and while I was sitting at the little table outside the kitchen he went and had a series of hushed conversations with his roomates. It was the first time I had ever been the subject of a hushed conversation with roomates, and I was loving it.

We went into the bedroom he shared with his brother and another friend(who both suddenly had somewhere else to be that evening) and we sat on the floor next to his bed, and he played "Awaken."

And before it was over there were tears shining in his eyes, and tears shining in mine, and he leaned in for the sweetest of closed-mouth kisses. And then we talked some more, philosophy probably, and then it was very late and he invited me to share his single bed.

And it was a sweet night of more closed mouth kissing, and holding on to each other, and the door cracked a little, just enough for whoever it was to see that I was still there, and then it shut. And at some point in the night he got up to go to the bathroom and when he stood up his knees buckled, and I knew for sure I was in love with him.

And I know right now that I still am and always will be, in love with the pure spirit he showed me on that night and a million times after. I can still see it sometimes to this day, beneath all the pain of what turned out to be our very tragic love story. We still sometimes look at each other with tear filled eyes, and it's only in trying to actually talk that things get muddled and broken.

Like the time I ran away

And turned around

And you were standing close to me.

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