Possible

God, I hardly know where to begin. I hope you can handle a long post.

This is chance to tell you, in a more coherent form, some of the things I tried to tell you last night. I'm not sure they bear repeating, especially because the most grievous sin in your catalogue is to be boring and repetitive - yet here I go again. Why? Because last night our beer-fueled conversation took a slightly familiar, and unsatisfying shape. Here's a broad sketch:

You ask a serious question, but in a rather off-hand way. I try to answer seriously but you express, or possibly feign, amusement and ironic distance. I become terribly self-conscious because I am taking the conversation so seriously. And even though the foundation of both my business and personal identity is exactly this kind of passion and seriousness, it suddenly strikes me as foolish. Consequently, I lose focus and start to drift. You seem diffident, but not enough to abandon the conversation entirely. Caught in a demimonde of partial and ambiguous interest, I compensate by babbling - and the conversation becomes a monologue. That would probably be fine if the monologue were tightly and comprehensively argued but, because I am unable to assess the full degree of your sincerity and interest, my logorrhea remains half-hearted.

It's weird that this should happen to us. After all, at root, I think both of us care about our ideas in a completely straightforward and un-ironic way. And both of us prize comprehensive, intelligent, and eloquent expression. So what happens? Well, I think it's an unfortunate confluence of our respective Achilles Heels.

First, me. I am a smart, passionate, committed fellow and could probably achieve anything I desired, both personally and professionally. And, on the surface, I don't really lack either cojones or confidence. I mean, I don't hesitate to talk over people, hold to the supremacy of my ideas, give unwanted advice, or launch into monologues. But, of course, I am deeply insecure about my most cherished ideas and ideals. Consequently, I function best when I feel utterly secure: Amongst my oldest, most reliable and most loving friends; with trusting employers who repeatedly articulate and reaffirm their confidence in both my creativity and my judgment. On the other hand, in the face of stony silence, bemused irony, detachment, or disdain, I tend to fall apart. I know it's a terrible weakness, Beauty, but I can't pretend it's not mine.

Now, you. I know you are equally smart, passionate, creative and determined - possibly more so. And, on the surface, you don't seem to lack a confident sense of yourself. You walk into rooms like you own them. And you demonstrate a highly developed sense of your own charm, attraction and sexuality. You broadcast broadly and strongly - you know it and you like it. But, too often, you use that power to create distance between yourself and your companions. With a deadly combination of piercing wit and ironic detachment, you puncture their confidence, undercut their authority, and make them both awkward and self-conscious. And, oddly, the ideas that you approach with the most irony (the targets of your most consistent and withering scorn) are precisely those ideas that - I believe - you cherish most deeply: Love, Romance, Honesty, Commitment, Consistency, Devotion.

How else could one possibly explain your speech at the wedding - a sisterly gift of of grace, empathy and remarkable intuition. And why do weddings, in general, make you cry? Or, for that matter, The Notebook? And why do yearn for a ring-bearer who understands both your aesthetics and your imagination?

You hate dishonest people, avoiders, poseurs (pronounce it as you will), liars, and fair-weather friends. And yet you look at their opposite with such wry and condescending pity. I makes me want to whack you upside the head. Remember how, at camp, you hung with the punks? Everyone figured you were part of both their gang and their groove. But you thought they were idiots and I don't believe you cherished a single one of their values. So what were you doing on their side of the ethical divide?

So, last night, there we were - you and I - playing pool and drinking beer. And you asked me a serious question about love and devotion, but then undercut your own seriousness with a quiver of the usual affects. And, predictably, each of those arrows found their mark in my own Achilles Heel. I felt insecure and incredibly foolish defending the only thing I believe in - love - to the only person with whom I'd like to share it. Ouch.

I felt the same way as you scampered off last night. You made me feel as though my determination to please you, to satisfy you, to know your own heart and to have you know mine, were laughable, not laudable, goals. Please don't get me wrong, Beauty. How could I fail to be comforted by the blizzard of tender kisses, the delicate intrusion of your tongue, and your sudden and disarming embraces. And, most spectacularly, your startling willingness to ask, and to beg, for what you want and need. You were utterly magnificent. Let me repeat: utterly fucking magnificent.

But I am a sappy, romantic idiot. And I felt so foolish for wanting to keep you with me, for wanting to maintain the moment, for wanting to be sure - and for needing you to say what didn't need to be said. But, alas, I do need you to say it. I need you to tell me when I please you, and when I make you happy. I feel exposed, raw, and vulnerable -- and I need you to both protect me and reassure me. I always have.

Please don't be awkward with me. Don't retreat. Don't hide behind your beautiful hands. I become egregiously, excruciatingly, and embarrassingly awkward in response. Try treat me as though I were less foolish than I am, and our circumstances less absurd.

Be honest with me. Tell me where I stand. Teach me to be sufficient. Hold me to account. Insist that I satisfy you. Compel me to comply. Ask, beg, demand.

Last night you asked me, although not in so many exact words, why I wanted a relationship, and why I believed in both monogamy and romance. As I've explained above, last night's answers were partial, hesitant, halting and misguided. Here's a better attempt:

Completion
Because a brilliant relationship adds missing elements to my life, expanding my scope and understanding, adding surprise and grace, teaching be things I didn't even know I needed.

Support
Because it's so nice to have someone reliably and genuinely in my corner - someone who has faith in me and loves me for both who I am and what I do.

Companionship
Because, if every time I want to do something, I want to do it with the same person - and if everything is better with them - why would I spend time with someone else?

Empathy
Because if I feel their hurt and celebrate their successes as deeply as my own, then it's only smart to inspire and protect them.

Reciprocity
Because, if I want care and attention, it's only fair to provide it.

Rarity
Because I've found it very hard to find people who can, alternately, make me laugh, cry, sigh, remain still, teach me, chastise me, keep me honest, inspire me, caution me, speed me, please me, interest me, thrill me, disarm me, protect me, acknowledge me, care for me, and christen me with wonder. And when one person combines all that, I want to grapple them unto my soul with hoops of steel.

Death
Because once they're gone, I will have no recourse. Only remorse. And because, ask anyone - in the end, love is the only thing left.

Sufficiency
Because, despite how it sounds, I am comforted by the notion of finding things and people, happily, sufficient. Because I want to appreciate what I have, and know when I've found something special.

Contentment
Because this is the happiest state of all.

Joy
Because this is better than contentment.

Desire
Because, too many times in my life, whatever I've desired , once acquired, lost its appeal. Now, I look for proven, deep, respectful, and lasting, desire.

Fetish
Because love is the hardest thing to find, and the weirdest.

Heart
Because I know what it's like to feel my heart break, and it's still worth the risk.

Fuck(1)
Because what the fuck else could be more important that loving someone forever.

Fuck(2)
Because I'm a romantic, not a monk.

Whimsy
Because this is easy with romance and imossible without.

Odds
Because the odds are against it and I've always loved an underdog.

Better
Because it makes me a better person.

Intimacy
Because I find emotional, intellectual, spiritual, and physical intimacy much sexier than novelty.

Because
Just because I do.

You
Because I feel all of these things about you.