Discover more from The Last Hundred Miles
February 24th, 1976
Another bumpy bus ride. Gorgeous deep blue twilight smells of summer. Drifting on a quiet dream bus into sunset Georgetown. I am going to Richard’s tonight. Under the auspices of further property division, we both know we want to see one another again. On Sunday I was lying in bed watching television with Gary and Richard called. He was calling from the pay telephone outside the lobby of my building. He wouldn’t come in– he had brought me a beautiful purple-flowered plant and a birthday card and a Valentine’s Day card. He signed the birthday card “The Bum.” I was saddened. I sat in the car for a few moments. I kissed him and looked at him and felt so strange not to be with him anymore. Just now I remember so vividly our early days together when we first made a home. How sweet and powerful those days were. I wonder if it will– if it could ever happen again.
And there is Gary and Ross and Allen and my job and my weaknesses and my determinations and beautiful mild summer days in the middle of winter and strong currents of energy and long blank moments when I wonder what to do about the fact that I still love Richard very much
and that I am beginning to love me.