I am thinking about that gaze, the way those eyes look up at me from a downwards glance, so shy upon meeting my stare, widening at the moment our sights meet, as if asking for permission – May I? May I look, just for a second, please? – and perhaps you don’t know, (for how could you, I know) that I find your face enchanting, the way your lips move slightly askew, the twitch of your nose, the rise of your eyebrows as your eyes fall unto mine – one more shot and I’m completely disarmed – disarrayed and distracted – dazed and fallen – drowning in phantoms.
I fantasize about a life together – sneaking in hotel rooms and clouding the windows of a Subaru – somehow our hands find each other amongst a cluster of plastic toys and colourful, neon cups – a tangle of intertwined legs – the sheets are wet and sticks to the back of your tired calves – I brush the hair out of your eyes and kiss the sweat rolling down your cheeks – we spend an evening at Atelier discussing history and politics as if we could call The Hermitage our home – your house becomes our refuge on empty weekends throughout the year – the distance between us is a gulf we cross easily, hours turn into seconds in the grand scheme of things – lost in the pleasure of recall and all the golden possibilities of what could happen if we really wanted it to – those miles are merely pregnant pauses heaving with meaning – easy obstacles we trek across just to be with each other –
Once upon a time, Dorothy wondered what it would take for her to be satisfied, only to realize she never wanted to be, and so began a journey of paving the road for the wanderers and the endlessly anxious, for the seekers and junkies, for the treasure hunters.
Welcome to limerence. May you never find what you need.
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