Victims of Romance: Day Two Hundred Thirty

491310_56401335From the outset, I feel it is necessary to iterate and then re-iterate, I do not believe that one conversation equals anything.  I’ve been proven on this point to scientific surety.  It does not mean anything at all, beyond the literal thing that happened which is a guy walked with me for five minutes and we talked about generalities the whole way.  That is all that can be taken away from it.  I am not honestly trying to convince the world of anything.

Still, I find it the thing I care to linger on tonight.

As the Laura Marling lyric goes, “every little girl is so naive, falling in love with the first man that she sees.”

So let’s not speak in specifics, the reason we were to meet again at all casts him in a dark light, though he seems not dark at all.  A second fuck-up that threw him into our loving attentions can’t speak well of him.  Let’s worry not over things that will never matter, if he’s cruel-hearted beneath this pleasant facade  Let’s not worry about all the ways in which it could not be.  For a moment, I was brave and he was kind.  And handsome.  And we were we walking together and I was not allowed to run off and hide, but to be a grown-up woman and converse.  And it was terrible the way a body can seize upon taste it’s longed for and suddenly, you find yourself addicted, absently google-fu’ing to see if he had an online presence (nope, he might even have an assumed name, he might be a young man on the run – a two year run without going anywhere but down into a keg of beer, pondering how long 60 hours is, if it was he who stared at you beneath the waxing moon for just a second longer than was necessary last time and you remember it was and a flutter runs up and down your whole body.  And you feel as though a wish – not a metaphorical wish, but a piece of cottonwood fluff – floats by and you can just reach out and grab it if you’ll do so much as move your arm delicately and not shift the breeze.  If you could be bothered, you could have it granted.  It was waiting to be grasped.

It felt a bit like a trope busted and broken by social constructs of the day, but the threatening homeless man had set up court at the intersection I needed to traverse to do my rounds and earlier in the day, I had to follow closely to some visitors and cross the street when I didn’t need to because I didn’t feel precisely safe.  He walked with me around the shirtless kung-fu guy that was giving me the heebie-jeebies and we talked as though he was a normal enough boy, as though he was as willing to walk and talk with me as anyone.  As though, he was giving me the time of day.  There was nary a moment to say anything afterwards, later, no chance to alter fate, just to ogle at a distance and ponder the great and exceedlingly ponderables that men and woment contemplate about eachother.  The constant drafting of posts like this.

It went too fast.

We will just have to see what Saturday brings.

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