to sir, with love

i am not the kind of girl that gives affection easily.
the coming of my love will never shake the foundations of the earth.

i slide gradually into love, the slip and plummet of little stones that herald a movement, articulate but small, of a building crescendo of noise that could be confused with the beating of my heart. it is, instead, the sound of a break in my most carefully composed facade.

you would think i had fallen in love, by the way i walk.
you know that expectant little step, a bit quicker, a touch higher off the ground when you imagine who it is you are going to see.

i am going to see him, brian, my office mate.

i am a fool for funny, sweet and tender gay men.

he has a subtleness that i adore. an insinuation of humor and intellect that you might miss if you are not the sort to pay close attention to such things.
i do not speak of common sensibilities. there is nothing average in his demeanor.
i live for his high, sly laugh.
and i will cut any caprice for him just to hear it.

i do not remember the moment i began my inexorable slide towards him. it was a gathering of moments, intimacies, really. a private joke. a sheet of paper. a shared conflict. and my growing admiration for his queenly sensibilities.

not every man who wears a tiara can hold court or my attention.

brian holds both, with the clearest blue gaze, a mind (and mouth) most wicked, and a divine sense of timing.

i am sliding towards him and i wonder if he knows how i adore him, how he is matchless in my repetoire of fabulous men...

he is walking towards me. soon he will be home.