Unhealthy behaviour, right?
Im leaving. Dont. Im
leaving. Dont. Toxic, even.
Maladaptive. Defensive.
Refreshing, though, to be
accepted.
And his bedroom felt like
home, whatever that is. I felt
welcome. Havent felt like
that since I was a teenager.
My then-boyfriend and Id
spend entire weekends in his
bedroom, eating cheese on
toast and playing Guitar Hero,
but thats a whole other can
of worms.
Anyway, I was overly
affectionate as though I
already knew him, and no, I
wont blame it on the
oxytocin or the dopamine rush
of novelty. OK, maybe the
latter played a role, but only
because I was excited to feel
something for somebody, to
appreciate both their mind and
body. And he was quite pretty,
really. Prettier than I am. In
an odd way. In a clumsily
elegant kind of way as though
hed fallen into elegance or
stumbled onto it as though
onto a stage. I can still see
him hunched over a mug of
cereal, standing by a moka pot
on the stove top. Its strange
the mental images we store of
others, of trivial but tender
moments. Banal. Im an
octopus collecting souvenirs
like shells and stones, a suit of
armour, camouflage. Do I fit in
now? Moments of normalcy, of
affection, of belonging. I
didnt mean to wrap my
tentacles around you.
Suffocating, Ive been called.
By a psychologist d call her
a bitch but itd make you
question my sanity).
Anyway, I felt alive again.
Hopeful. It wasnt limerence
nor lust, just an appreciation
of someones mind. Comfort.
Its not often that I get to
live in the present. Never
want to. Underwhelming.
Disenchanting. Still, I wont
fill the void with just anybody.
I wont fill this space with an
arbitrary yes. I need to save
it, keep it open for somebody
who fits. This connection,
however, was one I was willing
to pursue. Unrequited, though.
How is a connection
unrequited? His smile reached
his eyes. Caught him looking at
me as I did my hair. He
laughed, truly, when I kissed
him or burrowed my nose in
his armpit dont ask. He
felt like cup noodles in winter,
pizza and pyjamas in bed,
pages beneath a bedside lamp,
a Bible in the drawer of a
nightstand. And it was nice to
actually meet someone beneath
the surface, to imbue the
external with new connotations
determined by their depths. A
pleasant reminder that people
are beautiful just as they are,
beyond beauty standards and
gender roles. To rediscover
that beauty again was an Indian
burn, painful but lovely it
stung but the aching navet
cant help but make me smile
still.