I'm smiling (probably just wryly, though) as I write this. What was it, then, my observtion of several moments ago. Oh yes, that was it, the ironic parallel.
What an ironic parallel, how much I want her, in all the ways, and yet, her age of majority aside, I have way too strong a suspicion, I guess, that I just can't have her. Laughing. So funny - with those under that magic 18 number, I don't have to even second guess a thing: I know I ain't allowed to have those, rightly so, in any way at all.
And yet, here she is, and all I want to do is love her, and every single thing that comes with that territory, and still, the push it back exists - for good reason - as she is, really, no more available than the preteen down the street.
Still, though, I do let her in in the quiet in between times; she's never been anything but beautiful in those moments.
And yes, fuck yes, you fucking bet I wonder how fucking scary things are going to be
I mean, yah, it would be okay. It has to be okay. There aren't options for it not to be.
I miss her voice in its vulnerable state.
In any case, I can't imagine the visit would not be a good thing, regardless. At the very least, a necessary thing.
Admittedly, this is one seriously random journal entry - but as always, I'm trying to keep some kind of record.