Obsessions

I don’t know what exactly it is that I want from a girl.  I feel like I want so many things but nothing for sure.  I have so many different sides and a lot of them contradict each other.  I want to have adventurous sex with all kinds of women while at the same time being a hopeless romantic and wanting to fall in love.  I want to enjoy all of the colors of rainbow but find a special someone to have and hold.  Is this just a common thing that adults have to figure out which they want and stick to it?  Always regretting the choice they left behind?

My ramblings questions have a point.  The point is about a girl.  Her name is Nicole and I think I might be in love with her.

I’ve known her over a decade but I don’t really know her.  We’ve shared some intimate moments but we haven’t ever dated or been with each other.  I don’t know if I’m in love with her or in love with the idea I’ve made her into.  All I know is that I can’t stop thinking about her.

I’m sure its not love.  Depending on what your definition of love is would determine that for sure but I’m sure that’s not it.  It can’t be.  It might be though.  But it’s not.

That is the kind of back and forth I go through in my brain when thinking about her.  I write little poems about my woeful attraction to her.  I throw them out randomly in hopes she sees them.  A comment would make me melt and smile for a week.  Her merely being in the room when I write them is enough to last me the day.  I write them for me but I do it because of her.

This isn’t a post to go into detail to talk about her but instead focus on my obsession and how its making me slightly crazy.  Crazy in a good way, mostly.  I see her and I turn into a lovesick teenager lusting after the most popular girl in school.  I turn back into the shy and quiet nerd that can’t look a girl in the eyes.  I don’t know what it is but she makes me feel weak.

She inspires me though.  All I have to do is think of her and I can write about love like I’m in it.  I can pluck the thistles of heartache from my skin and write as if I had just been in her fields.  That glorious feeling of being alive, in love and in pain because a lover is always in pain.  If he is with his love then he knows it will hurt when they part.  If he is without his love then there is only one thing that can dull the ache.  We crave it more because it makes the world exist with new eyes.

I’ve tried to stop but it never takes.  I see her and play it cool but the kryptonite of her eyes always works through my defense and weakens me.  There are times when I stay away but it never lasts long either.  Just a peek to see if she’s around.  A wander past her usual hang out with my head stuck in a door or window to catch a glance.  Anything to be in her vicinity.  I’m pathetic and hopeless and I’m not sure I mind.

I’ll just keep going on like this.  Loving her, probably.  Obsessing over her, mostly.  Taking the small wins and holding them close.  Feeling the losses stab deep and kill me slowly.

 

 

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