Saint Raphael, hear my prayers

In the last five days I have seen Gerrard for three visits of eight hours, six hours, and seventeen hours respectively.

After this latest (a heady, passionate, sublime visit, beyond anything I could have imagined), I can barely wallow in the deliciously dirty details, for I am paralyzed with anxiety.

See, something went wrong with Jack Daniels, and I received no clues.  I thought that also was a strong, unique connection, and yet the day after our first overnight, he got squirrelly, going completely dark a week later.

Sure, maybe it was Jack that got cold feet or misrepresented.  I’m confident enough that I usually assume that the problem is the other person.

But now, with Gerrard, I’m terrified. If there is something about me, some quality, that fundamentally prevents me from closing with a sub… then I’m about to get a phone full of silence again.  And this one is going to hurt more than just a little bit.



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