Pride
Sitting alone unaware of my gaze you busy yourself with trivial life. Sinew and muscle I observe, gestures and contours. How innocent your smile; the word 'beautiful' plays it's tapes in my mind. I want to cry and throw myself on your back. Nuzzle my face into your neck. But I feel distant. To sit in front of you, grasp your face between my palms and gaze into your eyes. Or simply speak across the room saying "You are so beautiful. Your eyes wreak havock upon my heartbeat."
But I know it would squeak out a whisper and you'd know my helplesness. So I sit and watch, playing out one scenario after another. The endless possibilities of expression flowing through me stopped by the cork of embarassment of losing the 'upper hand'.
I return to my book, absorbed in the fluff of another existence played out for me. And I hear you speak softly: "Do you like what you see?" No sarcasm, but a child's question of pleading acceptance.
My face flushes red hot and I can feel my heartbeat pounding a stacatto through my cheeks.
You knew.
I feel the clothing of my facade peeling slowly away as I scramble in vain at the now unravelling materials. When did these holes develop? I ask myself; a mask of blankness on my face. I thought this was good hard steel! But I have to answer.
What are you talking about? is on the tip of my tongue when I raise my head and see that you too are naked; bits and pieces of armour scattered on the floor. I notice that it was faulty bolts that make yours fall apart.
Your eyes look frightened and I hear "Yes..." erupt from my mouth. How quiet it is! I observe. The 'yes' echoing much louder than reality's physics of sound could possibly allow.
Something draws my eyes down and I notice his hands tremble. My senses are so super-extended they feel overpopulated with input.
I know I must go to you. This mutual exposure so far away from each other is painfull, I need tactile sensation to stroke myself calm. And I know you aren't strong enough to do if yourself. Already I can see what this small amount of reaching has done to you, as emotional heartblood drips silently to the floor; making a din of tapping against a mental breastplate now left forgotten.
I stand and move a leaden foot in your direction. 20 feet at best is the distance, but I know I'm spanning galaxies to get to you.
Sitting alone unaware of my gaze you busy yourself with trivial life. Sinew and muscle I observe, gestures and contours. How innocent your smile; the word 'beautiful' plays it's tapes in my mind. I want to cry and throw myself on your back. Nuzzle my face into your neck. But I feel distant. To sit in front of you, grasp your face between my palms and gaze into your eyes. Or simply speak across the room saying "You are so beautiful. Your eyes wreak havock upon my heartbeat."
But I know it would squeak out a whisper and you'd know my helplesness. So I sit and watch, playing out one scenario after another. The endless possibilities of expression flowing through me stopped by the cork of embarassment of losing the 'upper hand'.
I return to my book, absorbed in the fluff of another existence played out for me. And I hear you speak softly: "Do you like what you see?" No sarcasm, but a child's question of pleading acceptance.
My face flushes red hot and I can feel my heartbeat pounding a stacatto through my cheeks.
You knew.
I feel the clothing of my facade peeling slowly away as I scramble in vain at the now unravelling materials. When did these holes develop? I ask myself; a mask of blankness on my face. I thought this was good hard steel! But I have to answer.
What are you talking about? is on the tip of my tongue when I raise my head and see that you too are naked; bits and pieces of armour scattered on the floor. I notice that it was faulty bolts that make yours fall apart.
Your eyes look frightened and I hear "Yes..." erupt from my mouth. How quiet it is! I observe. The 'yes' echoing much louder than reality's physics of sound could possibly allow.
Something draws my eyes down and I notice his hands tremble. My senses are so super-extended they feel overpopulated with input.
I know I must go to you. This mutual exposure so far away from each other is painfull, I need tactile sensation to stroke myself calm. And I know you aren't strong enough to do if yourself. Already I can see what this small amount of reaching has done to you, as emotional heartblood drips silently to the floor; making a din of tapping against a mental breastplate now left forgotten.
I stand and move a leaden foot in your direction. 20 feet at best is the distance, but I know I'm spanning galaxies to get to you.
