I woke up thinking of her this morning. I was snuggled up with H and we’d been cuddling in the haze that precedes wakefulness. I felt safe and warm and loved and fully aware that it was his arms holding me – nobody else touches or feels like that. There was nowhere else I wanted to be.
But I was thinking of her too. The way she looked last night. The way I caught myself staring a few times. The way my chest constricted whenever I caught her looking back. For the first time, I began to suspect that she may not be straight, but then I shook it off. Obviously, I want to think that and that alone is enough to throw off my gaydar but good. But she’s sweet and friendly and there were moments when we connected and started to approach, but the room was big and people wanted to talk to us about different things so we couldn’t. And then it was time to go and she asked me if I’d be there next time and I said yes, definitely, and she said oh good.
…Inside that look a million messages are transferred in a frozen moment in time – but all the messages can be reduced to the exact same thing.
…want to talk to her, date her, kiss her, possess her, touch her, dance with her, fuck her, drown in her, caress her, make love to her, discover her deepest thoughts and secret dreams…want to know more, to learn what makes her heart beat quicker, to know how she tastes and what she sounds like when she comes…want to hear what she is afraid of, what her favorite TV show is, what she is doing on Saturday night…want her to look back…want her to want in return…
Yes. Exactly. That. All of it.
Jen’s was one of the first blogs I read (from beginning to end) before I started my own. I found her through Mortar and Pestle, another blog that served as inspiration to go ahead and write ‘out loud’, so to speak. I also discovered Melissa Ferrick through her and have spent the whole day listening to her stuff. Just what I needed, really. I’m in no mood to listen to men singing about women and women singing about men. Not today.
It’s funny how familiar the person you’re obsessing over begins to look. I love her face – I’m generally quite happy with the way I look, but she has exactly the kind of face I’ve always wanted/thought was the absolute definition of beauty. I find myself memorizing her expressions, her mannerisms, her voice, repeating them in my head so they’ll stick. I caught myself speaking like her just a while ago. It was a little thing, but it stayed with me.
But it’s the little things that get you. They creep in unnoticed and by the time you become aware of them, there are too many to get rid of and they’re already joining forces, taking over. My head’s full of images. Her laughing, arguing with someone, raising her eyebrows when she’s making a point, asking a question, saying hello, sipping a drink, being nice to someone who’s irritating her, slipping her arms into her jacket, walking away. She looks both strong and fragile. Her voice catches and trembles sometimes. I love watching her wrapping herself up before she steps out about as much as I like watching her peel it off – perhaps more.
I feel vaguely happy today. Vaguely high. I wish I weren’t so easily…what? Distracted (from everything else I should be doing, that is)? Enchanted? Obsessed? I don’t know. But if I’m going to be in this funny state, I suppose I may as well enjoy it while it lasts.