Observations on the fall
There are two of him. There's the one I pretend I do not know. The one I greet warmly, but not, too warmly, the one I have no claim on. The acquaintance.
There's also the one with whom I am better acquainted, and wish I knew. This is the one who looks at me with those eyes. The one I am building walls to protect myself from.
Sometimes it's hard to keep them straight. And sometimes it's hard to remember the armor.
But I am observing myself reacting. It is an interesting study.
When he says that one word, which he pronounces without all of its appropriate letters, I feel my heart skip a little beat of recognition. I observe the flutter, and know it is based on signals in my brain, mainly of recognition, that I know that's how he pronounces that word. That I know him well enough to know that. And yet, I do not know him at all.
I notice that when I look at the point where his cheek meets his chin and see the tiny greying patch amongst the stubble there, I swoon just a little. I know that signal in my brain is happy that I am close enough to see it, to remember it, to recognize its presence.
It's the little details of his external self that I have noticed, that give me a special, intimate connection with this man, that send the signals from my brain, to my chest, to my stomach... and elsewhere.
And when he looks at me with those eyes, the ones that are not saying to me that this is only physical, when he touches my hands with his in ways that do not say that I only want to sleep with you, I again feel those flutters, and sometimes, momentarily, let the armor fall away.
And then I return to myself. I remember that I am only observing these things. I am not a part of it. Not a participant. I climb back into my armor.
And I hope that the day will come where he'll ask me to take it off.
There's also the one with whom I am better acquainted, and wish I knew. This is the one who looks at me with those eyes. The one I am building walls to protect myself from.
Sometimes it's hard to keep them straight. And sometimes it's hard to remember the armor.
But I am observing myself reacting. It is an interesting study.
When he says that one word, which he pronounces without all of its appropriate letters, I feel my heart skip a little beat of recognition. I observe the flutter, and know it is based on signals in my brain, mainly of recognition, that I know that's how he pronounces that word. That I know him well enough to know that. And yet, I do not know him at all.
I notice that when I look at the point where his cheek meets his chin and see the tiny greying patch amongst the stubble there, I swoon just a little. I know that signal in my brain is happy that I am close enough to see it, to remember it, to recognize its presence.
It's the little details of his external self that I have noticed, that give me a special, intimate connection with this man, that send the signals from my brain, to my chest, to my stomach... and elsewhere.
And when he looks at me with those eyes, the ones that are not saying to me that this is only physical, when he touches my hands with his in ways that do not say that I only want to sleep with you, I again feel those flutters, and sometimes, momentarily, let the armor fall away.
And then I return to myself. I remember that I am only observing these things. I am not a part of it. Not a participant. I climb back into my armor.
And I hope that the day will come where he'll ask me to take it off.