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writing_shadows2012-06-15 12:14 pm
annwfyn.livejournal.com) wrote in writing_shadows2012-06-15 12:14 pm
Entry tags:
Solace on girls
Girls don't count.
I don't quite know why they don't count. I mean, when you think about it too deeply, sex with a girl is still sex, isn't it? Not that I've had sex with a girl lately. Not since school, in fact, although there's been...well...other stuff. Which didn't count. Even if the Hero said it did, and added that to the list of things he'd happily deal out violence over if I were his.
Or maybe if I weren't. It's hard to tell with heroes.
But I'm digressing. Sex with girls doesn't count. Kissing a girl doesn't count. I know this because no one ever sent me to a foreign country for letting a girl hold my hand. I let Purges the Unworthy hold my hand once and I was sent off to America. I spent two terms at high school with Amelie Zaragov sharing my bed at my aunt and uncle's every single weekend and no one ever said a word. We used to hold hands, and no one minded. I suppose we never explicitly said what we were doing during the endless DVD marathons we had, but then, no one ever asked either.
When my mother came to visit, she didn't mention Amelie's scent, which must have been all over me.
Girls don't count.
They can't make you Impure. They don't make you Imperfect, or take away your worth as a trophy, as a prize. They can't claim you, the way a man can, and they don't get their offspring on you. There's none of the weight, none of the meaning, in being with a girl.
Girls don't count.
This isn't to say they don't matter. I remember how happy Amelie made me, and how I cried for two weeks when she got a boyfriend and suddenly didn't want to be my best friend any more. I remember the night with Cassidy Byrne, after the senior prom, where we ended up frantically kissing in the school toilets, her hand sliding up my skirt, my hand pushing its way between her legs, and I remember how badly I wanted her. Afterwards she avoided me and I spent half of graduation trying not to cry because she wouldn't look at me.
Girls matter. I know they matter. But they don't count. Not like men do.
I don't always understand why. I mean, it isn't just about who makes me feel the best. I'd say I feel safer with women; they don't hurt, like men do. But there's something exhilarating about that hurt, about that threat of hurt, about the leap into the unknown I know I take every time I let myself think about a man. And men come with a promise of a future which I know women don't. What woman would challenge Johnny for me? What woman would fight for me, die for me? What woman would write me songs that would keep me alive after I'm dead?
And I'll bear that in mind when I dress up to go out for dinner with Melody Allen, or play with the glass blowing kit she got me. I'll remember that when I see a girl smile and am caught breathless by just how lovely she is, and I'll remember that when the world hurts so much I can hardly breathe and I just need to have someone's arms around me for a little while.
Girls don't count. But god, girls matter....
I don't quite know why they don't count. I mean, when you think about it too deeply, sex with a girl is still sex, isn't it? Not that I've had sex with a girl lately. Not since school, in fact, although there's been...well...other stuff. Which didn't count. Even if the Hero said it did, and added that to the list of things he'd happily deal out violence over if I were his.
Or maybe if I weren't. It's hard to tell with heroes.
But I'm digressing. Sex with girls doesn't count. Kissing a girl doesn't count. I know this because no one ever sent me to a foreign country for letting a girl hold my hand. I let Purges the Unworthy hold my hand once and I was sent off to America. I spent two terms at high school with Amelie Zaragov sharing my bed at my aunt and uncle's every single weekend and no one ever said a word. We used to hold hands, and no one minded. I suppose we never explicitly said what we were doing during the endless DVD marathons we had, but then, no one ever asked either.
When my mother came to visit, she didn't mention Amelie's scent, which must have been all over me.
Girls don't count.
They can't make you Impure. They don't make you Imperfect, or take away your worth as a trophy, as a prize. They can't claim you, the way a man can, and they don't get their offspring on you. There's none of the weight, none of the meaning, in being with a girl.
Girls don't count.
This isn't to say they don't matter. I remember how happy Amelie made me, and how I cried for two weeks when she got a boyfriend and suddenly didn't want to be my best friend any more. I remember the night with Cassidy Byrne, after the senior prom, where we ended up frantically kissing in the school toilets, her hand sliding up my skirt, my hand pushing its way between her legs, and I remember how badly I wanted her. Afterwards she avoided me and I spent half of graduation trying not to cry because she wouldn't look at me.
Girls matter. I know they matter. But they don't count. Not like men do.
I don't always understand why. I mean, it isn't just about who makes me feel the best. I'd say I feel safer with women; they don't hurt, like men do. But there's something exhilarating about that hurt, about that threat of hurt, about the leap into the unknown I know I take every time I let myself think about a man. And men come with a promise of a future which I know women don't. What woman would challenge Johnny for me? What woman would fight for me, die for me? What woman would write me songs that would keep me alive after I'm dead?
And I'll bear that in mind when I dress up to go out for dinner with Melody Allen, or play with the glass blowing kit she got me. I'll remember that when I see a girl smile and am caught breathless by just how lovely she is, and I'll remember that when the world hurts so much I can hardly breathe and I just need to have someone's arms around me for a little while.
Girls don't count. But god, girls matter....