Love with Annelli is the one thing I have never been able to put into words. Right from the beginning when curious friends asked for descriptions of her, my words sounded so flat in comparison to who I was describing. How could I say what we had? There was no soundbite, no witty story.
All I know is this feels so good, and it did since I met her. A busy night in the basement of a gay bar, me with the usual disconcerting mix of lust and drunkenness and fear of all the people around me. And then being introduced and feeling this humming, exciting intensity. Like when there is a good secret or something you are looking forward to humming in your chest. It felt like that.
It had to do somehow with the losing of all self-consciousness. I stopped being so enamoured with myself like I had in other flings. I wasn’t interested in sounding witty or poetic (though I did) or appearing as x or y (though of course on
dates I got dressed up and wore red lipstick). There was something beyond appearances, and it was just this ease that felt so warm.