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ericboy's Diaryland Diary

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symbiotic parasites...

That is what we are.

I love to be sucked dry by you; ask me anything. I'll always be as honest as I can. I love asking you questions, picking your brain, learning more about you. The night that I propped myself up on my elbow, looked down at the moonlight falling across your face and asked you "What are you afraid of?"

Before the flash of curiosity washed into your eyes, before you asked me "why" or wanted the question clarified, you said, with no hesitation or room for fallacy: "I'm afraid of burning to death." Then you wondered aloud why I wanted to know; what I was getting at.

In the rational, day-to-day world, there is nothing that I am afraid of. I am not afraid of looking weak or stupid in front of you. I am not afraid of seeming too eager. I am not afraid of stray bullets, stolen kisses, fireworks skewed off trajectory and headed for my eye, passionless touches, blood clots forming in my legs from sitting in a cramped bus seat, pensive sips of coffee, an unnerving silence. I'm not afraid of failure, not afraid of not making a difference, not afraid of fire or water or heights.

But I do have a fear:

I am afraid of being misunderstood. And that's the only thing that I'm afraid of. Sure, things concern me. Most everything listed above. But nothing makes me scared like dying alone and misunderstood.

I miss you. I saw you not too long ago. I didn't say everything I wanted to, didn't make a funny joke that you couldn't resist laughing at. Didn't convey to you that you fascinate me. I didn't wrap you in my arms and kiss you. I wasn't sure it was what you wanted. I'm apprehensive about public displays of affection. I don't know how you feel about that, about me.

I don't know and, yeah, that concerns me. But it doesn't scare me. And I don't know why. Maybe I just believe that we're smart enough to do things right. After all, we're symbiotic parasites, aren't we?

11:19 p.m. - 2004-07-05

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