#mr. olson

[stillsmybeatingheart]

[benutty]

I -- I respectfully submit that we've under -- we've learned to understand more about sexual orientation and what it means to individuals. I guess the -- the language that Justice Ginsburg used at the closing of the VMI case is an important thing, it resonates with me, "A prime part of the history of our Constitution is the story of the extension of constitutional rights to people once ignored or excluded."

in oral arguments of Hollingsworth v. Perry (Theodore B. Olson)

[thesurfaceofherbeing]

Notice Me

She used to swear she could see his eyes pulse. She’d say it was as if his heart was beating so hard, the orange and green in his iris shook with each “thump, thump, thump.” She said it was sort of like something in his chest was trying to escape, trying to jump out at her, cling on, rap itself around her neck and never, ever, ever let her go. When her lips unlocked from his, and she lifted her weight off his body, she always noticed the lustful mixture of clammy nerves and libidinous sweat left behind on his chest. She used to giggle to herself, quietly, finding humour in the small quirks in their relationship like chest sweat.

She sat across from him at the breakfast table and looked up at his narrowing eyes as he read carefully, the front page of this weeks “Local Info”. His mouth would lift at the corner every few seconds, and his eyes would widen, and then narrow again.

She stabbed at her over cooked eggs, tossing them around the plate, pretending to be interested in her meal. He kept reading, and so did she. She began to notice wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and deep crevices filling his tired, overworked forehead. She watched his cracked and calloused finger tips as he reached for her hand, motioning to pass him his coffee mug. She sunk into her chair a little more, and then slid the cup across the beautiful oak table he had built for her, years ago. She liked how he used to build her things.

The tap in their home had been leaky for years. She used to say it reminded her of a ticking clock, and reminded her that no matter what, it would keep ticking forever. The thought of time used to please her. She liked to think about the way, in time, things changed and without it, there would be nothing to wait for, and nothing to miss. Now-a-days, she hated that sound. Sometimes she’d even rap a towel around the end of the tap, just to shut it up. She despised time.

She used to adore the way, when ever someone would ask them if they were in a relationship, how he would speak up first and state that they “exist together, as one.” She laughed at the seriousness in his voice, always so serious.

He looked rugged now, not clean cut like she remembered. As he sat there, a few feet away from her, she could feel the warm air radiate from his body. She stared at his exposed chest where he carelessly left a few buttons undone on his shirt. His surface was dark from the sun, dirt and work that kept him from her. She saw an unfamiliar dryness to his skin that made him look aged, and cracked.

The tap dripped, and she caught herself tapping her foot in time with it. Who was this stranger sitting across from her?  She stabbed at her over cooked eggs, tossing them around the plate, pretending to be interested in her meal. He kept reading, and so did she.