I can�t do anything really to alleviate his pain and stress, except listen and offer some words of encouragement like a Hallmark card.

You can do it, Dom. You can deal with seven-hour work shifts, being on your feet at Digitial Solutions. You can handle your classes and the nearly two-mile walk from the BART station, up the hill, up the stairs to your bed with the deep purple comforter.

You can be the supportive and concerned friend to the daughter who�s father is suffering in the hospital, and you can say prayers for the young woman you went to high school with who is battling Hodgkin�s lymphoma and pneumonia (I prayed for both last night).

You can play host to old friends from Oregon on road trips, visit Italian restaurants and San Francisco science museums.

You can take care of things on the Etc front with Ralphie, Sci Fi, Oneself, and Tim.

I can listen. I can talk. I can joke and tell you how I wish that I could give you a massage. Rub your back, trace your hairline and gently massage your head running my fingers through your short, red-orange hair. I can take your hand in mine, ignoring the super short finger nails because you are so self-conscious of them. I can rub those hands like the woman who gives me a manicure does. You act like a little boy and complain when I stop.

I can�t do that� and it kills me because I know that I miss you. Y s� que tu me extra�as tambi�n.

Maybe I should go back to my dream. You were in it. You�re rarely in them. This time we were alone (!) in what seemed to be a hotel room. I tried to kiss you, and you teased me saying, �You�re not getting any.� In a huff, I went to the window and looked out. I tried my best to imitate an hechicera and waited how long you could resist my clumsy attempt at seduction. You stepped behind me at the window, put your hands around my waist and then lowered them, resting them on my thighs. But that was just for two seconds, because they quickly went up my back lightly. You moved my hair aside, away from my neck, brought me as close into you as possible and kissed me on the neck. You went on to give three kisses to the lunares on my shoulder that make up the "sexy triangle." I must have melted because I slid down against the wall afraid that those in neighboring buildings would notice. You pulled me up, turned me around and went back on your previous words. I got some.

I woke up. You weren�t there beside me in the yellow sun and moon sheets. You�re rarely there. I�ve woken next to you a handful of times. It�s lovely, absolutely wonderful. It's like Brandon sings in the Incubus song "I miss you:"
To see you when I wake up, is a gift I didn't think could be real.
Maybe Res puts it better in "Tsunami:"
And now I want to stay at your side tonight
I want to watch you as the sun lights up your eyes
I want to know when you wake first thing you see is me
You're all the things I prayed that I'd meet.

Damn. I miss you, especially during the stressful times.

Me siento:
Escuchando:

M�s reciente:
Searches - 09.16.05
the big move - 07.29.05
mother and daughter: a comparative analysis - 07.28.05
jardineros y dom�sticas - 07.27.05
tough question - 07.25.05

antes // despu�s