A Lady and Lit

I like to write

A Problematic Feeling

Hallway. I was getting ready to leave. A bit rushed. Maybe. 

But I turned around, and you were there, in front of me. A tall statue, watching me. With those eyes. Watching my eyes.

There was an understanding in that moment. An agreement. Something left unsaid that didn’t need saying. 

You bent down your face to mine and without hesitation, we kissed.

It was automatic, like something you just know to do without questioning. Without trying to figure out.

It was. 

Soft and sweet and spasmic at once. 

Oh boy. Headspin.

Maybe we looked at eachother again. We probably did.

And in that moment, I knew.

That it could not be a regular kiss. 

That  I had those pesky “feelings” of “emotions” and all that other card-crafted foolery.

I knew at that moment that it Meant Something. 

Dammit. 

*

I don’t like to give myself to afflictions of the norm. I don’t get head rushes or sentiments nor am I plagued by any Hallmark-y madness. So I was upset. And delighted. At the same time. 

What a contradiction. A problem. 

I didn’t ask for this.

In the elevator, on the way down, you eluded to not knowing what was going on in my head. To not ever knowing what is going on in my  head. 

I couldn’t or didn’t say it because I didn’t want to admit it. 

Admitting that I had a problem, a feeling problem, is not my style. Because then I would have had to give in to the fact that maybe Cupid did have it out for me, much as I try to avoid his cherubic ass. 

So I just stood there, blank-eyed and smiled and probably said something elusive. Like how I do. 

And when we said Goodbye I knew it was not Goodbye. 

It was a Problem. 

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This entry was posted on October 29, 2013 by and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , .
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