Page 134 of Nearly Roadkill
Why does it matter so much to me, how you feel about me, what we are to each other? Haven’t we been discovering that we can be anything we choose? But I’m hurt because it’s finally clear to me that this stuff *is* a choice, and you talk real good but you’re not choosing me.
::looking out over the row houses::
I just know I’ll move back to New York. It’s just a matter of time. Time! I’ve spent so much time trying to be what I was second-guessing you’d want me to be that I never bothered to figure out what I want from you. I’ll work on that one now.
Yours in High Treason,
—W.
To:Winc
From:Scratch
Subj:Stuff
I don’t see where it says in the instructions what we gotta be.
Overwhelmed by the endless defining of ourselves. Why do it anyway?
The snap judgments I make are to protect myself.
This online space creates a village square where people can actually talk to one another. But we also have the freedom to contemplate what someone says and not be considered rude if we don’t respond at all! That’s an amazing freedom.
Winc, this weariness and grief is making me miss you. The you I know. I just want to fuse with you, to connect.
This separation between us hurts.
—S.
P.S. Re: Treason? What?
END SCRATCH JOURNAL ENTRY
To:D.I. Drew
From:Editor at They/Them magazine
Subject:Two rabbis go into a chat room
Kudos.
I find that their chat room style with each other is visceral—I can feel their bodies. So different from their emails, which are a more intellectual level of conversation. It’s like listening to two rabbis discuss the Talmud. You probably already know this word but it’s one of my favorites: “sapiosexual.”
Thanks,
Asa
SCRATCH JOURNAL ENTRY CONT’D
To:Scratch
From:Winc
Subj:Grief
The separation between us hurts me too.
You ask why do we endlessly define ourselves. I hadn’t framed our romps that way before. I’ve been thinking of it as identity surfing. I like the endlessly part.
