Thursday, 10 July 2014
Sick Of Her
I'm still hung up on that six-foot-tall art chick.
You may or may not recall our previous interactions. In short: I thought she was hot, and to my surprise she thought I was hot, we kissed, and then nothing happened after that because I never made any efforts to pursue her.
I still think about her regularly. Daily. She fills my head in those tedious hours of nightly insomnia. When left alone for long enough I think of her for company. Her slender frame against me as she rests her head on my shoulder. Heterochromic eyes looking up at me as she exposes her perfectly-aligned teeth.
I've seen her a few times over the past few months and it's always tense. We both know something would happen if either of us initiated. I do my best to summon the appropriate combination of words to make her smile over and over. I love spending time with her. She's physically expressive. She isn't afraid to touch me, and when she does it doesn't feel as if our relations have shifted in any way. It's natural.
I don't want any sort of romantic relationship right now. And I don't think she does either. So we both find ourselves drawn to one another only on infrequent occasions with no certainty of when we'll be together again. We don't have any direct lines of communication. We just have mutual friends. To make direct contact and arrange a meeting would be too forward. It would almost ruin what we have.
I never pass up an opportunity to go out with friends on the off chance that she might be there. I dress up. When she isn't there I genuinely feel disappointed. I wonder if she does the same thing. The joy induced by her presence outweighs any hardship brought on by her absence. Her soft voice makes me hyperventilate.
About a month ago, I found myself walking her home. It was during the day. We had both been out with friends. By chance we happened to be the only ones not driving. I put her jacket on for a while and she told me I looked like Kanye West in it. In a more private setting she showed me the scar along her spine. Scoliosis. It's gaudiness juxtaposed with her delicate aesthetic. I loved it. We spoke about a particular book she's been meaning to read for a while. I have the book, and I offered it to her for whenever she decided to finally get around to it. I told her she could message me when that time comes and request it. The message hasn't come yet, and I honestly doubt it will. It's alien. With enough impersonal communication we would get tired of each other.
In truth I want to be tired of her. Only I know that if I was I would just move on to somebody else. It's human nature. We tend to get sick of people eventually and then fixate again. If I spent more time with this woman we'd probably be done within days.
I can't wait to see her again.