Yo-Yo

Photograph by Ellen Von Unwerth

Dear Drew,

It’s the nature of writing to look for conflict–perhaps it’s even the nature of me. But our love has always been easy as a child’s game and that’s because of you. You are calm and wise and steady and strong. Everything complicated is simple to you and I love that. Everything scattered is tidied by you and I need that.

We are very different people, you and I. The prototypes for our types. I live in my head with my imaginary friends, making up conversations and inventing new realities, but you exist in the realm of the physical, for taste and touch and real hungers that cannot be sated by imagining them away. You pull me out of myself, into your hand like a yo-yo on a string. When I’ve been spinning on the ground for too long, you give me a place to rest and be held. I give you a place to play.

I have let you down in some ways, love, because in looking for conflict and the story and what I hope are universal truths of sexual dichotomy, I have sometimes lost sight of our divine oneness. You are the anchor of this relationship, so sturdy that it’s easy to forget you have your vulnerabilities too, that I should seek them out and guard them, and shore things up within myself so you always find the shelter you need in me.

You are a beautiful man and a good one, and I crave you sometimes when I’m alone, wobbling at the end of my string–but you look at me and know. You always know. With a flick of your wrist you’ve got me leaping into your hand and you’ve got me thinking, How does he do that? and you hold me until I’m restless and then give me a little line.

You’ve got it all figured out, baby. You sexy, sweet, badass of a man.

Wind me up tonight. I’ll give you a place to hide.

Love,

Me

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