The photos, which are black & white, are okay. The best one in the stack, spanning the week between my sister's highschool graduation and the last time Gordon came over for dinner, is of me and Michael (formerly known here as Mikhail). I framed it. Sarah also framed one of a few other shots she took of him. He photographs very well. I also framed one of me and Gordon, but it wasn't the obvious shot where we are both looking into the lens and smiling, perfectly centered.

I framed the one where I am looking in the direction of the camera, but not smiling. I look exhausted, but there is an evenness to my face that matches my concept of how I look and feel about myself, generally--and I seem peaceful; I remember that I felt content at the moment the photo was taken. Gordon is looking at me, and there is a tenderness, not so much in his look, as in his posture. I remember that we were talking then (it was a candid photo), but I don't remember about what.


The other photos of us are not terrible, but neither are they representative, truly, of the best in either of us. I had been worried about being photographed with him because I feared that something palpable, but unnamable, would become obvious to me, to him, to anyone who saw them... something that said "these two people will not work." And frankly, for purely aesthetic reasons, I wasn't sure we looked "right" together. You know those couples who look like they should be together? The ones that make sense, immediately, when you see them side by side? Or, better yet, the people who are not a couple, but who seem that they should be because something about them "fits?"

After intellect, art, and God, Gordon and I don't make an obviously logical pair. He is long and lean, I am short and decidedly round. The milk white of his skin and the coffee w/ a touch of cream brown of mine don't offset each other...they just look different. The ease with which he walks around, rides his bike, goofs off, etc., doesn't quite mesh with the ponderous way I take steps, the reserved nature of all my movements, the utter clumsiness that often overtakes me when doing anything that requires the slightest bit of coordination or grace...

I had a hair appointment yesterday, afterwhich I hung out for about an hour with Sarah and Michael at Michael's apartment, which is right next to my salon of choice. Then, I came back home to change and head out to see the film "Man on the Train," a soft, thoughtful french film about what happens when a poet and a bankrobber cross paths. Philosophical, but not cumbersome. I saw it alone, which was pleasant. Going to the cinema is one thing I can do alone quite easily, because it's such an outward focused thing. The one or two times I've eaten alone in a restaurant, I felt that something about it was counterintuitive, and I felt too awkward to enjoy my food.

Sarah and I are headed to Richmond for the day--to surprise her dad for Father's day. I have no father that I acknowledge, so I am free to accompany her...