pipercharmed200
07-21-2008, 05:24 PM
Young Desire. <3
So here I lie, the light grass stroking my body provoked by the delicate waves of wind travelling past me. In my hand is my diary, my heart, with its yellow pages inked with grievances, happiness, frustration, and every other feeling known to teenage angst. In my hand is my past. My slashed arms are told with black ink to form a labyrinth of emotions. The letter that came with the chain around my neck is in there; it is from the person I have loved the most. Bathing in the noon sunlight, a sepia tone is cast over my thoughts, I am here and now, but I am hanging onto the past, wishing to be back in the past. Almost everything I know is gone, my home, my school, my best friend, and my lover, all my constants. I don’t want to open my eyes; I wont see my surroundings as familiar. I will feel lost. This diary is the only thing from my past. And I am going to hold on to it. I begin to read it, for the first time ever. My coming out story. Unfortunately
PART ONE – THE RELENTLESS PERIOD.
Telling someone.
Grace lay comfortably on her back, which made me feel comfortable.
“I want to tell you something, but I don’t know how.” I said, I trusted her, and I really wanted to tell her that I was like this.
“Just tell me.” She replied back, but not as aggressively as I had expected. She shifted her position so that she was facing me. I had obviously made my secret into somewhat of a tease. She seemed intrigued. What have I got myself into? I have to make a secret up… I can’t tell her, what if she is homophobic? Evangeline what have you done? I thought to myself frantically. Grace persisted,
“Evangeline please tell me!”
“I really don’t know how.” You can’t just say “I’m bisexual” it doesn’t work like that. How can I make it easier to tell her? How should I tell her? “Grace…” I started to say something but paused. Grace watched me, smiling, that fact that she was interested made it a lot worse. Her skin, like porcelain was, at that very moment tanned by the gentle glare of the one light on in my bedroom. She maintained a constant blush, and her brown hair reaching her shoulders gently spiralled around, framing her face.
“You can tell me anything you know.” She said. I thought about her, and if I really could tell her anything without disastrous consequences. I have known Grace since the start of sixth form. And we didn’t really talk too much, but I had always been fond of her. She is heavily interested in science related topics, so before this, our few, yet memorable conversations were mostly on articles in the New Scientist magazine, or what we are studying currently.
Thinking about it now, I don’t know how I found the courage to tell her, I hardly knew her. This secret, was my only secret, the secret that I had been denying and hiding, but the secret that can be used to define me.
“Go on then!” She encouraged. Groaning I buried my face in my pillow. “Tell me!” She pleaded; she was just going to nag me all night if I didn’t tell her
Okay, okay” I set myself up, but I couldn’t think of how to say it. I let out a frustrated groan and slammed my face into my pillow again, wishing I had never opened my mouth.
After a while of building myself to tell her, and then not being able to, she started to give up a little bit. I was too stubborn for her, and I think that she saw that I was very uncomfortable about telling her. She started talking off the topic for I while, I was rather relieved, yet frustrated at myself.
I wanted to tell someone whom I could talk to about it; I have always known that there was something different about me, when all the girls in my class started to talk about how gorgeous boys were, and how amazing their bodies were. I wasn’t repulsed by what they were saying, just merely confused, why didn’t I ever have a crush on that Spanish exchange student boy? Why was I able to talk to him while the rest of my friends would cower and giggle? When my friends had me round I was confused as to why they had posters on their bedroom walls of men, they were everywhere dotting the baby pink wallpaper. To me, as a child, men all looked the same. I would remember the women, like when we watched in a film in class, the girls would smile when a young boy flicked his hair back. While I would quietly admire the beauty of the girl he had a crush on. Whether her hair colour was a golden blonde, or a chocolate brown. I would still think of her.
At weddings, “here comes the bride” indeed. Yes she always looked beautiful; I was always confused as to why someone so beautiful could settle for someone who looked so plain. The loose ringlets and the rosy cheeks, the pure white dress and the floral smell, angels. Women are beautiful, I cannot deny. “Gosh, isn’t he handsome” my mother and sister would say. While I would sit and nod, not wanting to appear different, but in my head, if only I were a bridesmaid so I could sit on her lap, and so she can talk to me, and smile at me. When I was a child, I always wanted to be like the bride, I would copy her hairstyle and I wanted to look like her. But this was all as a child. It never really bothered me then. I just thought that I was a late developer. In high school, I made up crushes, and I faked feeling weak at the knees. At the point where I decided to tell Grace I had just accepted that yes, I was attracted to women, I didn’t just want to be like them, I wanted to be with them.
God just tell her! I screamed to myself, but how?
She was the only person that I felt I could talk to about my sexual orientation; she didn’t seem like the type of person to judge me or to spread rumours. I really needed to tell someone though. Because until that point I had really been denying it. But when you develop an almost sexual obsession with an individual, it is very hard to ignore. I needed to tell her about the person who was making me crazy! I wanted to tell her about the person that I was obsessing over so much that I hated them. I wanted to talk about it. I needed to tell someone who I really was. I didn’t want to keep it a secret anymore. Because telling someone helps you accept it yourself.
Silence became fixed.
“Ok, fine.” I said, “I am obsessed with my English teacher.”
“Really?” She took in abruptly. “Guess who I like?”
“She is a women” I forced out painfully.
“Really?” She said, she didn’t seem surprised at all, I nodded apprehensively. I guess I was partly disappointed that the reaction I got was so plain.
“Come here” She said, I lent in. “I fancy Dr. Reynolds”
I lay back down on the bed, I had just told the biggest secret of my life to someone I have known for less than three months.
“You know, I’m not surprised that you are Bi-curious, it’s not like you go around saying women are fit but I just kind of sensed it.” She nattered on casually like we were talking about something so everyday like the weather.
“No, I’m bisexual, I think I may even be a full on lesbian,”
“Really?” She said, “Do you want to have relations with a women?”
“Well,” I pondered, “I would rather have relations with a man, but I would rather kiss a women.”
I told her how I had always known that there was something different about me and I explained to her that I’m picky with guys because I’m a bisexual. I went though a phase when I was around 15 years old; of telling myself that every guy friend I knew was so hot. I was just so desperate to get a boyfriend; I guess I just wanted to get my first kiss over and done with so I didn’t have to worry about it. Shamefully, a bottle spinning and stopping to point at me, then to some boy I thought was cute, signalled my first kiss. It was like licking a wet fish, along with teeth clanking, and other unpleasant details, which I don’t wish to expose. After that game of spin the bottle, I told myself, and others that I enjoyed the kiss. And that I thought he was hot. I guess it was a form of denial. Nothing went anywhere though, I was too embarrassed to go and talk to him, because I really didn’t think that he liked me, and also there was the fact that I had no desire for anything to happen. But of course I didn’t know that then!
After telling her this, I talked about, her, Miss. After all that was what I really wanted to talk about, when you have a crush, or obsession in my case, you just want to talk about it, because it is always there in your mind. It is like silence is impossible. Because in every pause you feel it, you feel them. Or in my case, you feel their absence. Even in your dreams, your unconscious desires come out. Like in the one I had the previous night to then, I told Grace, as poetically as possible, to come as close to the real thing.
So Evangeline, what don’t you understand?” Miss. Polakowski asked, fixing her eyes at me. We never left each other’s sight. With her arm leaning on the desk I was at, and her hand placed delicately yet so vividly on the corner of my sheet of paper, I felt blissfully paralysed. Each blink sent tremors down my chest, each beat of my heart amplified by our connection. She was wearing a lacy black V-neck top, which ended at her forearms. The top hung not to tight across her chest. I could see where her neck met her shoulders, the part of my body where I wanted her to touch while she was kissing me. Perched suggestively on the table, physically she overpowered me; her unbroken attention accompanied by her distinct musky scent was provocatively enchanting.
“God Angie!” Grace exclaimed.
“I know, I know,” I moaned, “I don’t know what I’m going to do.” I was so surprised that I managed to tell her all of this; I guess she just made me feel so comfortable. I talked about her for so long, I loved it; it gave me somewhat of a happy buzz. Almost like she was there with me.
After I expressed myself fully, I let Grace have a good rant about Dr. Reynolds, he was our Chemistry teacher, I only had had a few lessons with him, but she had him last year. It couldn’t have been love at first sight as he is, lets just say, not entirely attractive. She told me about how she loves the way he teaches his lessons and how intelligent he is. I didn’t really think much of it. She also told me about a dream she had, he was kissing her, and that was it, there wasn’t much content to it. But when she told me she had this smile on her face that read pure bliss, and pure weak at the knees romance. She told me that she only realised that she liked him because of that dream, well, that it sort of confirmed it. It was clear that she was crazy about him, sweetly, as much as mine? I questioned. Just seeing Grace’s face light up confused me, not because it was weird that she liked a thirty-somewhat year old teacher, but because she was that attracted to a man. I asked myself why women, especially young pretty girls like Grace went for such, plain men, it must be genetic, because I simply did not understand. I wished I were normal so much; it would be so much easier.
“Evangeline, I have just realised something!” She said, changing the subject. “That’s the main reason you did not want to go out with Joseph!”
“Yes, I don’t really know though, because when I am with him, my heart does begin to beat fast at points.” I said sleepily. Joseph and I had gotten close over the summer, we spent many days together, and everything was so comfortable and casual. I could say we had a longitudinal fling, but nothing serious. But it was only till we started school when I realised that I may not like him in that way, I thought I liked him, until I saw Miss. Polakowski, my English teacher. Joseph was a sweet guy, he had a good heart, but you could only see this, if you were close enough. And I believe that I was more than close enough. But close as friends. I felt like I owed him an explanation, but I couldn’t tell him, maybe it was because I didn’t want it to be real, I wanted to be attracted to him. I didn’t want to be a lesbian.
“So that’s why you left him hanging, he must be so confused” she said.
“Yeah, but I thought it to be unfair for him to be second best, and I didn’t want to find out after I said yes to him that I was indeed a lesbian. Also… well the list goes on” I said weakly, “God, he must be so confused, you are right.” I sunk my head deep into my pillow, riddled with guilt.
“He really likes you, poor guy, what did you tell him as an excuse?”
“I told him that it wasn’t him, it was me, and that I was just going though this immense change and I needed to be on my own.” I said shamefully, Grace looked up horrified, “Well what was I supposed to say?” I said. I really did feel bad, because I really lead him on, I told him that I felt really jealous when he was with other girls and that I thought I liked him. But it turned out I wasn’t jealous of the girls, I was jealous of him flirting with the girls! We had kissed on a few occasions, but we never talked about it, it was always so uncomfortable, and because of this our “us” conversations always took place on MSN. At Susan’s sleepover a month before, we had fallen asleep in each other’s arms, this felt so nice, but not right.
Right before then, on that Friday evening, stars dotted the carbon black sky. A group of about eight of us had gone into Central London to get ice cream. We then strolled to Hyde Park, not a care in the world. Ironically, the whispering trees created an awkward silence, between us, Joseph and I. We needed to talk. He had put his jacket around me and told me that he couldn’t wait for me much longer, I told him that I didn’t think it would work and used the old “It’s not you, it’s me” I felt so bad as soon as I said it, the trees stopped whispering. I hate hurting people. We didn’t talk much after that, we went our separate ways, I sang off the awkwardness, with Grace, that’s what I do, whenever I feel bad, whenever I feel something unpleasant, I distract myself from it. We sang, linking arms, and exchanging warming glances.
Among us, in the park in those previous hours, were my four best friends. Alex with his warm coffee skin which was just a little darker than mine was walking with Susan, deep in conversation, with moments of debate and laughter. Hannah and I walked on either sides of Joseph for the majority of the night. She proceeded to flirt casually with him, and I lay on the sidelines, however satisfied and comforted by the constant glances that he was giving me. Until we had that talk, he then stopped giving me those glances, but that was understandable. So this was our “group” as we used to call it, or it is the name used when Grace and I refer back to it, Alex, Hannah, Joseph, Susan and I. I was there in that group for no particular reason other than, I was lead there by a long chain of friends that I had gone down over the school years, and we hung around comfortably over the summer. At that point I didn’t know whether I would stay in the group, I often used to question if I belonged there. The thoughts I have on it now is, if I had stayed in that group, I would have had a steady two years to end my life at school, perhaps a content two years. Perhaps I would have come out with a grade higher in one subject or another. In that group, I would have remained somewhat quiet and only talked about Miss. Polakowski in my head. If I had stayed in the group none of this would have ever happened. And it is your opinion as to whether you think I should have stayed or not. Would you rather have an interesting life or a content life? Ask yourself that.
My ever-so-carefree friend and I talked and talked, until we fell asleep at four in the morning. And when Grace woke me up in the morning the first thing she said was,
“OMG, did we really tell each other?”
So here I lie, the light grass stroking my body provoked by the delicate waves of wind travelling past me. In my hand is my diary, my heart, with its yellow pages inked with grievances, happiness, frustration, and every other feeling known to teenage angst. In my hand is my past. My slashed arms are told with black ink to form a labyrinth of emotions. The letter that came with the chain around my neck is in there; it is from the person I have loved the most. Bathing in the noon sunlight, a sepia tone is cast over my thoughts, I am here and now, but I am hanging onto the past, wishing to be back in the past. Almost everything I know is gone, my home, my school, my best friend, and my lover, all my constants. I don’t want to open my eyes; I wont see my surroundings as familiar. I will feel lost. This diary is the only thing from my past. And I am going to hold on to it. I begin to read it, for the first time ever. My coming out story. Unfortunately
PART ONE – THE RELENTLESS PERIOD.
Telling someone.
Grace lay comfortably on her back, which made me feel comfortable.
“I want to tell you something, but I don’t know how.” I said, I trusted her, and I really wanted to tell her that I was like this.
“Just tell me.” She replied back, but not as aggressively as I had expected. She shifted her position so that she was facing me. I had obviously made my secret into somewhat of a tease. She seemed intrigued. What have I got myself into? I have to make a secret up… I can’t tell her, what if she is homophobic? Evangeline what have you done? I thought to myself frantically. Grace persisted,
“Evangeline please tell me!”
“I really don’t know how.” You can’t just say “I’m bisexual” it doesn’t work like that. How can I make it easier to tell her? How should I tell her? “Grace…” I started to say something but paused. Grace watched me, smiling, that fact that she was interested made it a lot worse. Her skin, like porcelain was, at that very moment tanned by the gentle glare of the one light on in my bedroom. She maintained a constant blush, and her brown hair reaching her shoulders gently spiralled around, framing her face.
“You can tell me anything you know.” She said. I thought about her, and if I really could tell her anything without disastrous consequences. I have known Grace since the start of sixth form. And we didn’t really talk too much, but I had always been fond of her. She is heavily interested in science related topics, so before this, our few, yet memorable conversations were mostly on articles in the New Scientist magazine, or what we are studying currently.
Thinking about it now, I don’t know how I found the courage to tell her, I hardly knew her. This secret, was my only secret, the secret that I had been denying and hiding, but the secret that can be used to define me.
“Go on then!” She encouraged. Groaning I buried my face in my pillow. “Tell me!” She pleaded; she was just going to nag me all night if I didn’t tell her
Okay, okay” I set myself up, but I couldn’t think of how to say it. I let out a frustrated groan and slammed my face into my pillow again, wishing I had never opened my mouth.
After a while of building myself to tell her, and then not being able to, she started to give up a little bit. I was too stubborn for her, and I think that she saw that I was very uncomfortable about telling her. She started talking off the topic for I while, I was rather relieved, yet frustrated at myself.
I wanted to tell someone whom I could talk to about it; I have always known that there was something different about me, when all the girls in my class started to talk about how gorgeous boys were, and how amazing their bodies were. I wasn’t repulsed by what they were saying, just merely confused, why didn’t I ever have a crush on that Spanish exchange student boy? Why was I able to talk to him while the rest of my friends would cower and giggle? When my friends had me round I was confused as to why they had posters on their bedroom walls of men, they were everywhere dotting the baby pink wallpaper. To me, as a child, men all looked the same. I would remember the women, like when we watched in a film in class, the girls would smile when a young boy flicked his hair back. While I would quietly admire the beauty of the girl he had a crush on. Whether her hair colour was a golden blonde, or a chocolate brown. I would still think of her.
At weddings, “here comes the bride” indeed. Yes she always looked beautiful; I was always confused as to why someone so beautiful could settle for someone who looked so plain. The loose ringlets and the rosy cheeks, the pure white dress and the floral smell, angels. Women are beautiful, I cannot deny. “Gosh, isn’t he handsome” my mother and sister would say. While I would sit and nod, not wanting to appear different, but in my head, if only I were a bridesmaid so I could sit on her lap, and so she can talk to me, and smile at me. When I was a child, I always wanted to be like the bride, I would copy her hairstyle and I wanted to look like her. But this was all as a child. It never really bothered me then. I just thought that I was a late developer. In high school, I made up crushes, and I faked feeling weak at the knees. At the point where I decided to tell Grace I had just accepted that yes, I was attracted to women, I didn’t just want to be like them, I wanted to be with them.
God just tell her! I screamed to myself, but how?
She was the only person that I felt I could talk to about my sexual orientation; she didn’t seem like the type of person to judge me or to spread rumours. I really needed to tell someone though. Because until that point I had really been denying it. But when you develop an almost sexual obsession with an individual, it is very hard to ignore. I needed to tell her about the person who was making me crazy! I wanted to tell her about the person that I was obsessing over so much that I hated them. I wanted to talk about it. I needed to tell someone who I really was. I didn’t want to keep it a secret anymore. Because telling someone helps you accept it yourself.
Silence became fixed.
“Ok, fine.” I said, “I am obsessed with my English teacher.”
“Really?” She took in abruptly. “Guess who I like?”
“She is a women” I forced out painfully.
“Really?” She said, she didn’t seem surprised at all, I nodded apprehensively. I guess I was partly disappointed that the reaction I got was so plain.
“Come here” She said, I lent in. “I fancy Dr. Reynolds”
I lay back down on the bed, I had just told the biggest secret of my life to someone I have known for less than three months.
“You know, I’m not surprised that you are Bi-curious, it’s not like you go around saying women are fit but I just kind of sensed it.” She nattered on casually like we were talking about something so everyday like the weather.
“No, I’m bisexual, I think I may even be a full on lesbian,”
“Really?” She said, “Do you want to have relations with a women?”
“Well,” I pondered, “I would rather have relations with a man, but I would rather kiss a women.”
I told her how I had always known that there was something different about me and I explained to her that I’m picky with guys because I’m a bisexual. I went though a phase when I was around 15 years old; of telling myself that every guy friend I knew was so hot. I was just so desperate to get a boyfriend; I guess I just wanted to get my first kiss over and done with so I didn’t have to worry about it. Shamefully, a bottle spinning and stopping to point at me, then to some boy I thought was cute, signalled my first kiss. It was like licking a wet fish, along with teeth clanking, and other unpleasant details, which I don’t wish to expose. After that game of spin the bottle, I told myself, and others that I enjoyed the kiss. And that I thought he was hot. I guess it was a form of denial. Nothing went anywhere though, I was too embarrassed to go and talk to him, because I really didn’t think that he liked me, and also there was the fact that I had no desire for anything to happen. But of course I didn’t know that then!
After telling her this, I talked about, her, Miss. After all that was what I really wanted to talk about, when you have a crush, or obsession in my case, you just want to talk about it, because it is always there in your mind. It is like silence is impossible. Because in every pause you feel it, you feel them. Or in my case, you feel their absence. Even in your dreams, your unconscious desires come out. Like in the one I had the previous night to then, I told Grace, as poetically as possible, to come as close to the real thing.
So Evangeline, what don’t you understand?” Miss. Polakowski asked, fixing her eyes at me. We never left each other’s sight. With her arm leaning on the desk I was at, and her hand placed delicately yet so vividly on the corner of my sheet of paper, I felt blissfully paralysed. Each blink sent tremors down my chest, each beat of my heart amplified by our connection. She was wearing a lacy black V-neck top, which ended at her forearms. The top hung not to tight across her chest. I could see where her neck met her shoulders, the part of my body where I wanted her to touch while she was kissing me. Perched suggestively on the table, physically she overpowered me; her unbroken attention accompanied by her distinct musky scent was provocatively enchanting.
“God Angie!” Grace exclaimed.
“I know, I know,” I moaned, “I don’t know what I’m going to do.” I was so surprised that I managed to tell her all of this; I guess she just made me feel so comfortable. I talked about her for so long, I loved it; it gave me somewhat of a happy buzz. Almost like she was there with me.
After I expressed myself fully, I let Grace have a good rant about Dr. Reynolds, he was our Chemistry teacher, I only had had a few lessons with him, but she had him last year. It couldn’t have been love at first sight as he is, lets just say, not entirely attractive. She told me about how she loves the way he teaches his lessons and how intelligent he is. I didn’t really think much of it. She also told me about a dream she had, he was kissing her, and that was it, there wasn’t much content to it. But when she told me she had this smile on her face that read pure bliss, and pure weak at the knees romance. She told me that she only realised that she liked him because of that dream, well, that it sort of confirmed it. It was clear that she was crazy about him, sweetly, as much as mine? I questioned. Just seeing Grace’s face light up confused me, not because it was weird that she liked a thirty-somewhat year old teacher, but because she was that attracted to a man. I asked myself why women, especially young pretty girls like Grace went for such, plain men, it must be genetic, because I simply did not understand. I wished I were normal so much; it would be so much easier.
“Evangeline, I have just realised something!” She said, changing the subject. “That’s the main reason you did not want to go out with Joseph!”
“Yes, I don’t really know though, because when I am with him, my heart does begin to beat fast at points.” I said sleepily. Joseph and I had gotten close over the summer, we spent many days together, and everything was so comfortable and casual. I could say we had a longitudinal fling, but nothing serious. But it was only till we started school when I realised that I may not like him in that way, I thought I liked him, until I saw Miss. Polakowski, my English teacher. Joseph was a sweet guy, he had a good heart, but you could only see this, if you were close enough. And I believe that I was more than close enough. But close as friends. I felt like I owed him an explanation, but I couldn’t tell him, maybe it was because I didn’t want it to be real, I wanted to be attracted to him. I didn’t want to be a lesbian.
“So that’s why you left him hanging, he must be so confused” she said.
“Yeah, but I thought it to be unfair for him to be second best, and I didn’t want to find out after I said yes to him that I was indeed a lesbian. Also… well the list goes on” I said weakly, “God, he must be so confused, you are right.” I sunk my head deep into my pillow, riddled with guilt.
“He really likes you, poor guy, what did you tell him as an excuse?”
“I told him that it wasn’t him, it was me, and that I was just going though this immense change and I needed to be on my own.” I said shamefully, Grace looked up horrified, “Well what was I supposed to say?” I said. I really did feel bad, because I really lead him on, I told him that I felt really jealous when he was with other girls and that I thought I liked him. But it turned out I wasn’t jealous of the girls, I was jealous of him flirting with the girls! We had kissed on a few occasions, but we never talked about it, it was always so uncomfortable, and because of this our “us” conversations always took place on MSN. At Susan’s sleepover a month before, we had fallen asleep in each other’s arms, this felt so nice, but not right.
Right before then, on that Friday evening, stars dotted the carbon black sky. A group of about eight of us had gone into Central London to get ice cream. We then strolled to Hyde Park, not a care in the world. Ironically, the whispering trees created an awkward silence, between us, Joseph and I. We needed to talk. He had put his jacket around me and told me that he couldn’t wait for me much longer, I told him that I didn’t think it would work and used the old “It’s not you, it’s me” I felt so bad as soon as I said it, the trees stopped whispering. I hate hurting people. We didn’t talk much after that, we went our separate ways, I sang off the awkwardness, with Grace, that’s what I do, whenever I feel bad, whenever I feel something unpleasant, I distract myself from it. We sang, linking arms, and exchanging warming glances.
Among us, in the park in those previous hours, were my four best friends. Alex with his warm coffee skin which was just a little darker than mine was walking with Susan, deep in conversation, with moments of debate and laughter. Hannah and I walked on either sides of Joseph for the majority of the night. She proceeded to flirt casually with him, and I lay on the sidelines, however satisfied and comforted by the constant glances that he was giving me. Until we had that talk, he then stopped giving me those glances, but that was understandable. So this was our “group” as we used to call it, or it is the name used when Grace and I refer back to it, Alex, Hannah, Joseph, Susan and I. I was there in that group for no particular reason other than, I was lead there by a long chain of friends that I had gone down over the school years, and we hung around comfortably over the summer. At that point I didn’t know whether I would stay in the group, I often used to question if I belonged there. The thoughts I have on it now is, if I had stayed in that group, I would have had a steady two years to end my life at school, perhaps a content two years. Perhaps I would have come out with a grade higher in one subject or another. In that group, I would have remained somewhat quiet and only talked about Miss. Polakowski in my head. If I had stayed in the group none of this would have ever happened. And it is your opinion as to whether you think I should have stayed or not. Would you rather have an interesting life or a content life? Ask yourself that.
My ever-so-carefree friend and I talked and talked, until we fell asleep at four in the morning. And when Grace woke me up in the morning the first thing she said was,
“OMG, did we really tell each other?”