There is this push and pull with you that I can't wrap my mind around.

In previous times, I would have certainly tried to control it, manipulate it. Twist it, turn it; weave it, thread it. 

Become it.

And while it exasperates me, the aura of confusion that you reside within, it also causes me to revel in my own transformation.

Freedom to allow you to choose how you want: I will not define this relationship. Even in regard to friendship. Does it really exist? I'm confident you are interested in the person that I am, but I believe you feel that way towards many friends in our community. The thoughts in my head collaborate and deliberate and come to agreement over convenience and distraction as your primary other motives.

This is acceptable, provided I understand your motives. 

I chide the older, immature sections of Jeanne who want to force YOU to recognize your motives as well, but she's no longer in control. Your growth is not my responsibility. 

What I have acknowledged, again (I had forgotten the 4 Jeannes have already had this conversation), is that I can't confuse the adept manner in which you entwine your words and actions of intimacy with the idea itself.

So I smile at our laughing snapshots and put them where I can remember the night, but they won't force their way into my heart the way the last smooth-talking, intimacy-tossing man did.