about fragile
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latest archive about email links yearbook japan photoblog wish list	Mon Aug 07 00 / 2:53 AM He showed up at Barrymore's last night. He was my All-American boy in dark jeans and a white T-shirt, short dark hair, bemused expression, warm hands, welcoming arms, convenient knee. God. What am I doing? I could be chasing what I can't have, craving it even more for having once nearly tasted it. Or hey, maybe I just like him because he's him. He is so accomplished, so varied, so easygoing, so something everything wonderful, that I don't know if I could even handle it. He is intimidating in his first-glance perfection. A boy made of glass and I don't want to break him. And yet, do I care about the ubertalent so much? I think what really makes him so larger-than-life is his seeming inability to be devious. I would be the E to his G, and I am not used to treading lightly on the sensibilities of others. I like to be the gently abused, handle with care, volatile contents. How can I treat someone well when I am only used to caring for myself? He does not make me doubt myself. I believe if I applied myself I could ask him out one day and hear a yes. But having him would be different; comparison would be inevitable and the conversation stunted. I don't think I could keep him interested, and that is too bad, because I keep wanting to do all the wrong things to him.
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Lisa Higgs
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