There is always something especially nice about the first time a lady smiles at you. I contend that at that moment, if you observe her smile, her eyes, her body language, you can determine the nature and depth of your future relationship with her.
"I'm sorry," she smiled, "that seat belongs to my boyfriend."
Your gaze averts hers as she fumbles for a cigarette. You reach across with a match. The flame ignites, as do your dreams. Your eyes meet again briefly and something is unlocked as if by an old fashion hotel key.
"There he is now."
There are certain sacred moments in the oft jaded field of a budding romance. This wasn't one of them. But I'd play along. I'd let her think I still had my pride, my dignity, my ego. Afterall she was letting me think she still loved her boyfriend.
4:00 o'clock in the morning and I was still awake. At four in the morning whites and colors sometimes get mixed up in the wash. But lying awake at 4 in the morning wasn't entirely fruitless, oft times you see things you don't see everyday. There were a myriad of images, after-images, dreams, almost-dreams, visions and revisions that like rare virus' in a rain forest would never survive in the light. Imagination! Hell, the power of imagination is larger than the information highway. You know the Information Highway, where they spent billions and billions of dollars so millions of people can endlessly debate who was the better Star Wars captain.
But back to the pointlessness of this journal entry. It's always hard to believe that someone you could love isn't the person you thought she was. Or was she? I thought, as I daydreamed a little. I saw a little girl in a peach colored dress. She looked not a day older than the day she last kissed me as I boarded a bus headed for an airport that would drop me off in a jungle somewhere.
Geographically, culturally, philosophically undesirable, yet we were perfectly suited for each other in all the timeless, primative, clandestine ways that can be reckoned with in daydreams.
At my age I had long ago admitted that whatever I thought it was that I was looking for, I was never going to find.
Watching the slow decay, first written 2. Jan. 2009
4 months ago