A marvellous party, but then that moment towards the end, that moment of oh fuck, this isn't just a party for no reason- it's because you're going, and... fuck fuck fuck fuck I'm not ready!. Not ready to lose you yet, to face my life without you. It's not fair, I need you, you can't go!
A sobbing mess would both ruin my make-up and bring the mood down, so I abstained, but it was a struggle. The tears were right there, ready to fall. I figure there's time for them later.
Another friend departed, more permanently: a death in the 'family', the way queers and kinksters gather as family. On the drunken stumble home one night I ripped a plant to shreds, an unassuming blue-flowered shrub by a car park. Ripping leaves and branches left stinging scratches on my hands and between my fingers. It's not the answer but nothing is.
People ask me how I am and I have no idea how to respond. It might go something like- I have an apartment, and a satisfying handful of jobs. I have friends and tension and love. Mostly I read but sometimes I write, and I'm shying away from my previous excesses of enthusiasm in pursuit of essentially unrewarding things. So do I seem flat now? Unexcited, boring?
I spent the end parts of tonight pressed back against an out of order cash machine dancing to goth interpretations of the hits of the 80's, holding my shoulders still while my hips and thighs swung wildly. Eyes closed, hands grapsed behind: framed, moving, alright. Yes. I'm alright.