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coalescentI can tell when I'm infatuated with someone because I want to share. I want to share my interests, my thoughts, the ongoing story of my life. I want to go to the cinema with her, and walk her home afterwards. I want to spend the moments with her.
I want to understand her. Since that'll never happen, I want to appreciate her contradictions. The hedonistic scholar, the generous cynic, the dutiful dreamer. The girl that reads Heat and The Independent one after the other. I want to hear the stories about her family, about her plans, about her life. I want to know.
That's the selfish part.
It's her eyes. Big and round and alive, like a child's, and a sidelong glance is enough to stop me in my tracks. Except sometimes when she's tired, or frustrated, the light dims; and of course, I want to be able to bring it back, to make it better. A couple of times I even have.
This is my problem. I'm her friend, I think. She does like me, I know. But she doesn't like me. That's how it feels, that's what those who've known her longer say is surely the case. She's very picky, they say. Don't take it personally.
So I bury my feelings, most of the time. I appreciate the friendship for what it is, most of the time. And it's good, most of the time.
But most of the time isn't all of the time; and I've been here before, but I can't understand how I ended up here again.
I want to understand her. Since that'll never happen, I want to appreciate her contradictions. The hedonistic scholar, the generous cynic, the dutiful dreamer. The girl that reads Heat and The Independent one after the other. I want to hear the stories about her family, about her plans, about her life. I want to know.
That's the selfish part.
It's her eyes. Big and round and alive, like a child's, and a sidelong glance is enough to stop me in my tracks. Except sometimes when she's tired, or frustrated, the light dims; and of course, I want to be able to bring it back, to make it better. A couple of times I even have.
This is my problem. I'm her friend, I think. She does like me, I know. But she doesn't like me. That's how it feels, that's what those who've known her longer say is surely the case. She's very picky, they say. Don't take it personally.
So I bury my feelings, most of the time. I appreciate the friendship for what it is, most of the time. And it's good, most of the time.
But most of the time isn't all of the time; and I've been here before, but I can't understand how I ended up here again.
