a journal in short bursts that might occasionally even rhyme |
I remember the day it changed, the day he went from being that guy, a friend of a friend, to a being wanted but unattainable. Now when he speaks my body shakes, distracted by visions of his lips on mine, whispering naughty nothings betwixt fevered fondlings. My flesh aflame when he enters the room, nerves go into overdrive from the effort not to touch, not to beg, not to plead. In my wildest moments I convince myself the indifference is feigned: his smiles, his looks, his laugh are an admission, an acknowledgement, signs for me alone to interpret. Mostly his indifference enervates me past the point of reason. I have become that girl, the one who finds excuses to press myself against him and inhale his scent, the memory a cold comfort on lonely nights. Sometimes I am sure that he knows, feigned ignorance his way of letting me down gently; I am ever the fool. The tension is unbearable. I have never been more comfortable in my life with someone who wants so very little from me. I am torn; the desire to speak – take the chance that will lead to running my hands over places I have only glimpsed – wars with the delicious tension of silence – the waiting game, the nervous anticipation of seeing and not speaking. The days are empty, flatter and colder, life lived in monochrome. With one look, one word he rains colors on my world. I wish I knew how to make my image thing he falls asleep to at night and wakes up to in the morning. Afraid to try and fail, I might be more afraid not to try at all; what a viciously funny thing. |