what to write?

I want to write about what's actually going on in my life.

But the thought of sitting down and detangling this mess of fuck and feeling and putting it into words is so exhausting.

I want to write, but I don't want to know.

I want to write. About my immature N and doing this with him cos I can. About T finally talking of the lack of kissing between us, when I had already fully understood why 2 months beforehand, also roughly 2 months after whining about it here I guess. And being ok with it. And then a part not ok with it. About the heart in our mind that only wants to know 'what if?' About kissing N and feeling not quite right. But feeling excited still. Yes, 'what if?' About this thing we call a heart, just our hope in disguise, bloody organic sticky, merge my life, my thoughts, my codons with you disguise, keep knocking, keep living, the divine, the eternity in a lifetime disguise. About cumming loudly for T right after telling him it's time to hold off for a bit . About being glad for T and sad for T. About boundaries and whether we open them for love or love opens them for us. About the advice T gave me in this. About people who’ll tell you to unbunch your underwear whenever you show any alarming signs of giving a shit. (Hah. Even our idiom for caring is ugly.) About N possibly being one of those people, and still wanting to fuck him. About passion and earnest truth and lack thereof in me, N, and others.

Today, no learning. Just going.

(But then, this already has me thinking, so this is why they hide, we hide, I hide.)