Morning After
May. 26th, 2022 09:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
greenstormI'm supposed to be thinking about work. Instead I'm thinking about peace.
Spent time with new person last night. It's the first time we've been in-person since we started talking, which in turn has been less than a week.
It's very good. I'm still wrapping my head around who he is. Most people I experience like a standing wave, a pattern of behaviours. Some people I experience like a puzzle. He's a kaleidoscope so far, or like standing in a swirl of butterflies or a flock of birds: motion and light and nothing still enough to remain in focus. There are significant culture and age differences, but turn the wheel and he's an ex-vegetarian pro-ethical-animal-products minimalist dumpster-diver whose ethical framework feels really solid and familiar, but when I start to settle into that he's an older dude from a world of competitive sports and private schools, but.
He is his own rock at the center of the universe.
How does he hold onto himself in the world he came from, in the world he describes? He maintains integrity but not rigidity; in fact he is so open, watching and learning and situationally aware.
I am already picking up the slightest hint of South African-accented vowels and slang from an era one or two before my own.
And I am so wary. Not of him, but of being gifted so many people, so many opportunities to connect over my life. I've needed a lot of people, a lot of support and close connection. What's the likelihood I could continue to be given it? I know so many lonely people.
What if everything actually is ok?
Before I went to visit him yesterday I picked up my packages from the post office. I received my old old roses from Cornhill, then I went and spent the night rolling around and talking and snuggling and staring out the window with this person; it's a reasonably clear omen if anything is.
Here, then, are the names of the roses:
Cinnamon rose, R cinnamomea plena
Belle Amour
Chloris
Maiden's blush / cuisse de nymphe
Mme Plantier
The Apothecary Rose, gallica officinalis
Fantin Latour
Henri Martin
So many human hands shaped and preserved them. Now they are in my hands. How lucky am I?
Spent time with new person last night. It's the first time we've been in-person since we started talking, which in turn has been less than a week.
It's very good. I'm still wrapping my head around who he is. Most people I experience like a standing wave, a pattern of behaviours. Some people I experience like a puzzle. He's a kaleidoscope so far, or like standing in a swirl of butterflies or a flock of birds: motion and light and nothing still enough to remain in focus. There are significant culture and age differences, but turn the wheel and he's an ex-vegetarian pro-ethical-animal-products minimalist dumpster-diver whose ethical framework feels really solid and familiar, but when I start to settle into that he's an older dude from a world of competitive sports and private schools, but.
He is his own rock at the center of the universe.
How does he hold onto himself in the world he came from, in the world he describes? He maintains integrity but not rigidity; in fact he is so open, watching and learning and situationally aware.
I am already picking up the slightest hint of South African-accented vowels and slang from an era one or two before my own.
And I am so wary. Not of him, but of being gifted so many people, so many opportunities to connect over my life. I've needed a lot of people, a lot of support and close connection. What's the likelihood I could continue to be given it? I know so many lonely people.
What if everything actually is ok?
Before I went to visit him yesterday I picked up my packages from the post office. I received my old old roses from Cornhill, then I went and spent the night rolling around and talking and snuggling and staring out the window with this person; it's a reasonably clear omen if anything is.
Here, then, are the names of the roses:
Cinnamon rose, R cinnamomea plena
Belle Amour
Chloris
Maiden's blush / cuisse de nymphe
Mme Plantier
The Apothecary Rose, gallica officinalis
Fantin Latour
Henri Martin
So many human hands shaped and preserved them. Now they are in my hands. How lucky am I?
