You put all your stuff in our shed and moved away. You said you would come back in six months. I txted you as you journeyed north, and I loved you so much; I almost asked you to turn around. When that volunteer palm tree was growing next to the house too long ignored, I
dear Nest, I see what kindness you did. Giving, caring, listening with your body. Being there for someone. Doing love as spiritual practice, steadfastly. I admire how completely you gave. It was rare and gorgeous. Then I admire how you pulled away, when it was too painful to maintain. You tried many ways to adjust.
“What’s a community, if it’s based on lies?” I asked. “A community of convenience. Gentlemen’s agreement. Fuckery–bullshit. A charade. A waste of time.” I was having a lot of feelings about communication issues in the community that I live in. Some friction had occurred, when I said something true but snarky in a meeting. I
I don’t know how my breasts look. They’re large; they droop. They’re soft and comforting. They’re uncomplicated. My breasts are pretty–that’s for sure. Rather symmetrical, but not entirely. Rather rounded. Substantial and trustworthy. My areolae are huge and pale pink. The nipples themselves are average size, I guess. Sometimes I fantasize about having dark, slightly