"I wish I could remember these words."

I think I'm still recovering from Pride, an exhaustion that has refused to subside. Monday started off with a yawn and two days into the workweek I still need coffee. Lots of coffee. Not only did I go to the Mermaid Parade in Coney Island on Saturday, but I caught the very end of the Dyke March in the Village. (I spotted Anne from afar. I hid.) And then after a day of drinking, my friends and I commenced with more drinking. Emma and I even shut down the bar we were in.

Finding ourselves without a place to drink, intoxicated on Belgian beer, Emma and I stumbled onto to 2nd Avenue sometime around 4 am with a plan to find a cab. I am not sure how it started, but we ended up standing on the corner of East 7th Street talking until the first stirrings of sunlight began to warm the eastern sky. We talked of life and other subjects that seem hazy in retrospect. Perhaps it was the alcohol, but at one point, embarrassingly, I was even reduced to tears. It felt nice to be held while I cried involuntarily -- it also felt intimate. And it being New York, the moment was interrupted when a bum rattled a cup full of change at us.

By then it was seriously getting light and the city was slowly coming awake. Free of tears, I led us further into the East Village looking for a new destination, perhaps a diner that was open and serving breakfast. As we wandered towards Alphabet City, I impulsively grabbed Emma by the hand and pulled her into a doorway, kissing her. It was rushed, aggressive, and with surprisingly too much tongue from Emma. I struggled to lead the make-out session, wishing that girls would learn one day that using tongue is a delicate art. But then it was over, our kissing reduced to smiles and coy glances.

Onward we continued into the east before realizing that we were far too tired for breakfast. We left in separate cabs, dazed. As my own cab rushed over the Manhattan Bridge, I checked my watch and noted that Manhattan looked especially beautiful during sunrise. When reached my bed by quarter to six in the morning, the previous hours seemed like a strange dream.

I'm not sure what my feelings are for Emma. Obviously I've wavered on them in the past, sometimes put off by her frenetic energy. She's leaving tomorrow and won't be back until the end of the summer so I suspect that if there is anything between us, it will most definitely be on hold. And for those who have been keeping up and wondering why I am changing my mind when Emma acted so poorly the last time I saw her, she ended up explaining more about what was going on that day with a friend of hers who had tagged along, so my opinion of her has softened a little.

Ugh. Why does everything have to be so confusing?