The Enchanted Potion

I found out I was H.I.V. positive May 15th, 2007, a year and 5 months next week. Tonight was the first time I really wept for it, for myself, for whatever has gone wrong. I want to be better, and cried to myself, please.  I don't know why I didn't try to journal here before, but tonight it makes sense to begin.

Today at random I pulled a book from the shelves, The Miracle of the Rose, by Jean Genet:

"I think it is the rigours of prison that drive us toward each other in bursts of love without which we could not live; unhappiness is the enchanted poison."

Tonight I am crying angry.

I know this is beautiful, for not being easy.

X, where I got it from.

I'm craving safety, arms, breath. I want to sleep inside the shadow of your care. If darkness is an intimacy.

I had a good cry to myself.  Now I'm going to tell you this story.