My beloved B once told me I was like a leaky tea cup, that no matter how much how much (love) he poured into me I (my cup) was never full. Last night I read a an excerpt from a book about Truman Capote’s character Holly Golightly on the NPR website.  It seems that Mr. Capote would have understood.

“But no number of perfume bottles or whiskey bottles, no matter how deep or beautiful, could alter the fact of her absence. Nor could most of the women or men to whom Truman attached himself. They could never pour enough warmth into the void.”

The “her” the author speaks of is Capote’s mother who was at best absentee.  The quote had 2 effects on me. First it made me wonder about my own mothers role in my leaky-tea-cup-ness. Secondly, and more disturbingly, I found that they quote brought me to the feelings I have for women. The feeling that that tea cup is full. That is how my heart felt with my dear M and now with my darling H. It feels full. So why is this disturbing? Because it suggests to me that my desire to be involved with women is based on my longing for my mothers love.

I suppose this is only disturbing in theory. Ultimately, if I feel full, happy, and loved then does it really matter how or why? Does it matter that a longing for my mothers love brought me to love women? I doesn’t to me.

Now, please understand that my love for H (or M before her) is NOT maternal. I do not equate either of these ladies with my mother. But instead what the thought evokes is this feeling of warmth and being cared for. It also evokes that lovely warm smell that women have, yes my mother had it and yes M & H both have it.

Ultimately, being romantically involved with a woman feels like coming home. Pure and simple.