Pish posh
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2001-11-14 19:56:26 (UTC)

Lauren Bacall and Bogie

True love, indeed. I have a picture of Lauren and Bogie on
my wall, a cheap postcard I found in a strange shop in a
town up near Williams. It's a publicity photo from To Have
and Have Not, and I think that it captures beauty. Perhaps,
you have to know the story behind the photo, I'm not sure.
When these pictures were taken, the two of them were in
love, but unable to openly admit it. She was so much
younger than him and he was in the process of divorcing his
wife. In the picture, they are about to kiss, the tip of
her nose has snuck behind the tip of his, her head tilted
gently to the side. One of her hands is wrapped around his
neck, but by the curve of his neck and back, it seems that
he is almost reluctant to kiss her. His large, veined hand
is resting on her tiny waist, however, and the angle of his
eyes betrays his true, overwhelming wish...he desperately
wants to kiss her. She is just barely smiling, trying to
hold back, really, from smiling, but only just managing it.
Tension flows throughout the entire picture, its dark gray
and bright white shine, the light reflecting off her
magically perfect hair. They have such passion and, yet,
such love...which lasted. What truly sells me is that their
love lasted.

I've been wondering about Danny lately, about him and me,
and about how he seems to care more about anything that
isn't me. I probably overdramatize it, at least a bit, and
I admit that I'm not perfect, far from perfect, really,
when it comes to putting him over my whim of the moment.
But why do I want to spend time with him when he'll be
doing something else, when he'll half blame me from
distracting him from his other occupation? If I leave,
however, I dont' get to see all, because, later,
he'll be screwing around with some freshman or sleeping or
watching a movie or playing a game. Somehow, it's all only
half-real. I know he cares about me, and I know that I
shove him off sometimes to do things like watch that crazy
movie with everyone in upper. But I also know that I reach
out more than he does. That is what I'm really tired of.
It's not a question of blame, or truth, or effort, and who
has been doing what...but just of reality. Where is our
relationship? I don't know. I'm not sure it's in a good
place. Nor am I sure that it will stay in this place,
whatever it is. I also don't know if it will ever recover
and become...something that makes me happy, just thinking
about it, rather than a facet of my life of which I am
unsure, about which I do not know what to think or...feel.

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