I probably stared at her eyes too much. I have the tendency to do that any ways. I always want to look people directly in the eyes until I notice their own wander too much, so I build in little off shot glances into the conversation.
I don't feel like it's my fault. The last two times I met her, she wore those sunglasses that are too big for her face, you know the kind that everyone's into now. I hate them. So instead I take this opportunity to look at the blue eyes that were hidden behind that layer of UV Protected coating.
We're in an old fort, walls high but still allows the buildings to lean overhead. The fort is off the East River, been around for around two hundred years...serving military, immigrants, fish, theater, fairy rides, music...almost in that order. Stories were ripped down, roofs destroyed, stones eroded.
One of my favorite songwriters is up, singing about that poor little "black sheep boy", and the stories of "bitter dismay of a lover who brought fresh bouquets every day when she turned him away to remember some knave who once gave just one rose, one day, years ago".
We leaned against the railing that looked out on the river, and towards the statue of liberty. The evening was growing dark, and the sunset reflected off her yellow ringlets. It's that sort of real-life romantic imagery hat makes you awkwardly aware of how the background doesn't fit the scene on stage.
"Did you like it?"
"Yeah it was enjoyable, thanks for inviting me"
"You should call me so we can hang out again," yet as those words leave my mouth I know she won't, and I know I won't care. It wasn't that I really liked her, I mean I could point out flaws (like the tendency to say random, slightly crazy, life-perspectives as proven truths), but the point was we didn't care enough. She was vaguely annoying, and I vaguely uninteresting. It was another neutral connection.
I always hope something will click, but they don't very much anymore. It's either one-sided or...nothing.
This all happened about a year ago, but I can't help to think that this scene just plays over and over on repeat.
I've been having a daydream, whenever I close my eyes.
I'm standing in an empty room. The light pours through the windows, leaving a small pattern of crosses along the shining wooden floors. The sky is so bright I can only see white light out of the window. Myself...I am just a silhouette, standing approximately in the middle. The only object in the room is a mattress laying on the floor next to me.
Everything feels clean, empty, simple, and perfect.
Sometimes my head takes it farther. I meet a girl. Like everyone in my dreams, she's just a figure, she's more a symbol than an actual person. She has no facial characteristics, but then again neither do I. During the night time, I dream of these symbols...a lost love...the unattainable...sometimes I match these meanings with a person in my life...but they are actually not them. A cast of archetypes and people known.
So...this girl...if I believed in such things...would be something kin to a soul mate.
She's earnest but easily lost. I am just a footnote in her life, she comes about once a week. She's an artist in the fullest sense of the word. She gets consumed by a vision and I lose her in these times. But I'm perfect in my room of light.
She appears once a week, and we consume each other. I am no longer a footnote but her breath. We indulge in each other for a moment, on the mattress that won't sit still. It's also pure of movement and emotion. Focused.
But then she's lost again, unfeathered by convention or practicality. I know it may not be realistic, but I hold on to that spirit while I can.
We both feel that everything is passing between our fingertips and to indulge in each other and art is the only thing we can feel so we feel it well before it passes too...and we again have to move on.
This is the daydream rattling in my head, catching me while I nod between the stations underground.