real life

this is how it goes

You think, I’m not ready for a relationship, not even an ongoing sexual one with clear emotional boundaries.

You think, there’s no way I can even adequately interact with other human beings intimately without causing or receiving some sort of heartache.

You think, I must be more restrictive and conscienscious of my interactions.

Then, someone comes along, someone unexpected maybe, and for a minute, an hour, four hours, over Thai food, over a bottle of Presecco, over take out from Song, over a walk on the promenade, over a tattoo, you remember that there is more to an interaction than simply confusion and ache, and sometimes you can hold small shards of yourself up to someone else’s light and discover a shade of yourself that you’d never really seen until someone else was there to provide illumination.

Published by Sinclair Sexsmith

Sinclair Sexsmith (they/them) is "the best-known butch erotica writer whose kinky, groundbreaking stories have turned on countless queers" (AfterEllen), who "is in all the books, wins all the awards, speaks at all the panels and readings, knows all the stuff, and writes for all the places" (Autostraddle). ​Their short story collection, Sweet & Rough: Queer Kink Erotica, was a 2016 finalist for a Lambda Literary Award, and they are the current editor of the Best Lesbian Erotica series. They identify as a white non-binary butch dominant, a survivor, and an introvert, and they live outside Seattle as an uninvited settler on traditional, ancestral, & unceded Snoqualmie land.

5 thoughts on “this is how it goes”

  1. blackandblue says:

    I love this. The part about the shards and light. I had the same thoughts about someone, but my metaphor was a secret decoder ring…but the same idea, the contact with this person bringing out things about myself I did not know or forgot…

  2. White Girl says:

    this is a poem by silvia curbelo. have i shared it with you before?The way things move sometimes, light or air, the distance between two points, or a map unfolding on a table, or wind, never mind sadness.The difference between sky and room, between geometry and breath, the sound we hearwhen two opposites finally collide, smashed bottle, country song, a bell, any bridge, a connection. The way some stories end in the middle of a word,the words themselves, galaxies, statuaries, perspectives, the stone over stone that is life, never mind hunger. The way things move, road, mirror, blind luck. The way nothing moves sometimes, a kiss, a glance, never mind true north. The difference between history and desire, between biology and prayer, any light to read by, any voice at the bottom of the stairs, or the sound of your own name softly, a tiny bone breaking near the heart.

  3. Shannon says:

    Sigh, this is so lovely

  4. birdonthewirenyc says:

    sometimes people slip in under your radar when you least expect it. and sometimes it's exactly what you needed and didn't even realize…

  5. sinclair says:

    thanks all … blackandblue, I like that metaphor a lot too.

    white girl (a), thanks for the note! that poem is fantastic, I definitely haven’t seen it before.

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