journal #10, 1/2/17

1/2/17, 11:29am, sitting on rock at top of spontaneous hike, overlooking the ocean

turning out to be another quiet day, a little less tense thanks to WB, but still not total ease between JH and I.

last night — I’m still not quite sure what to think about last night. I slept in the middle of them and woke gently to find WB spooning me, moving his hand from my shoulder down my arms to my waist and hips. Being cold, I was fine with this, somehow convincing myself it was platonic. I awoke again later, having turned around, to his face snuggled against mine, his leg over me, his hands stroking my hair, my cheekbones, back to my ears; he moved the blanket I’d nestled my mouth into and nestled his face in instead. he touched his lips to the side of mine.

I pretended to be fast fucking asleep.

I have no idea what this means. I am confused with him, and I am confused with myself. We’ve been friends for years now. I live so far. Am I attracted to him? I think a little. Who am I kidding? I think a lot. I enjoyed the hell out of last night. I am disappointed that we arranged our sleeping bags with JH in the middle tonight. But I know it wouldn’t last, because I know we are incompatible in what we want in life and what we are content with, and so: I am not willing to lose this friendship.


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