She glanced and our eyes met. My heart raced like a sputtering engine starved for oxygen; hot and fierce. I tried to avert my gaze but suddenly she smiled and kindly waved and excused herself back to her book. Back to daily living.
I try to pretend I don’t feel the rush of emotion. I tried to ignore the thumping in my chest, the adrenaline pouring out and pounding at the walls of my heart. The flash of hormone laced chemicals delivering a rush of fuel to a deeply flawed contraption. This feeling was all I needed to make my life sweet again though, for that, I’m thankful. The heat under my skin showed up turning my face engine red.
Avoiding any weirdness I walk away struggling to make sense of my inadequacy. You’d think that after years of play-acting as an adult that I’d be better equipped to handle eye contact with someone as attractive and intriguing as her. By the time I came back to my senses, she was gone. My mind now races to think about the idea of her. Her warmth, softness, fragrance and taste are real but, to me, ultimately, she is just a fog, a haze, a ghost.
It’s her gaze, as I remember it, that brings me naked and bare into the reality that I’ll never see her again. In my mind her image has started to darken. Daily now, I walk to the same place where I initially saw her trying to recreate the sequence of events but there is no forgiveness for my cowardice that day and no reward for my inaction. The music plays on and the days urge me forward into a sad existence without her. Her voice fades from my memory more each day. I can only try to imagine it.
There will be days ahead in which I will feel loneliness and pain and it will bear her image. I can comfort myself by blaming my sorrow on my agony-addicted heart. Reality accepts no fools and for this junky addled heart there is no elixir. I ask my logical self to guide me better in the future and away from a heart so prone to breaking. And then I ask, why not feel the pain? Why not confront the sorrow and abandon? I think I’d rather keep the pain. Falling in love and hurting is better than dying without it. In the end, I think I’d rather keep the pain and acknowledge life and love and its misery since it’s better than the numbness of death. better than the numbness of death.