Delusions of a romantic
The first time he saw her, it was like magic.
She came around the corner, a cool swagger in a cream colored pantsuit and an orange blouse. She was to him
a dream come to life. On her elfin face, a wry grin that said that there was more than meets the eye. And he
knew he had to meet her. In time he might ask himself why, but at that moment he knew no more than he had
to. But he hesitated.
He realized his professional situation later was trending towards a rehash of his previous trials, and that it was
best to escape now before the pressures mounted. But he'd yet to meet her; there had been no opportunity,
no moment to seize. And so when offered that door of professional respite, he stepped back, for he knew if he
left he would never meet her. In his mind, at the least, she was worth the gamble, worth whatever came.
Only he was shy. An odd kind of shy, in the sense that he could be gracious, friendly and witty and aggressive
with women who if they rejected him it would cause him no issue and he would simply move on. But he could
also be self conscious, nervous and timid with a woman of whose opinion he'd mentally assigned some value, to
whom he already given a kind of importance. If these women rejected him, he would be lost. A paradox for an
intensely social man.
And she'd had an importance from the moment he saw her.
She eventually approached him. Months even years later, he was still unsure of what provoked her action. He
knew he wasn't especially physically attractive, once joking that if he'd been a girl he'd had have been the one
described as "having a great personality". They had barely even said hello in passing. But it happened just the
same. He liked to think that she'd been compelled by some unknown force to do it, signifying fate.
Using the medium of the moment, they conversed daily on the firm’s Instant Messenger. Their conversations
long and varied until one Friday in a fit of madness, he tentatively asked her to lunch the next day. A lump had
sat in his gut while he waited the eternity of thirty seconds for her answer.
Out and about they got along famously. Had it been something as simple as just pursuit of the flesh, a sweaty
night of fusion and passion, they might not have gone out three times. Instead they went from pub to bistro,
to cafe and steakhouse and fell into an easy melody of good times, warm conversation and quiet moments.
They shared childhood photos and dreams. They shared stories, philosophies and desserts. They saw winters,
sat in summers, spent years. He supported her activities and sacrificed to help her reach her goals. He eschewed
other opportunity. His imagination took over, and ultimately betrayed him as it read between the lines, in spaces
where there were no words.
Although they had discussed the issue on occasion, who they were in relation to each other, what they were
and they weren't, their actions never changed. They acted in concert, complaining when they weren't in sync,
flowers and presents and nicknames, but in reality they may have well have been glorified strangers. His
attraction grew, and she forbade him to leave. But they were just words and actions; the currency of a new
world relationship was something else entirely. She chose elsewhere.
Although it pained him, he stayed. In his mind from friendship sprang real love, so they really were friends. With
the choice of the dark or escape, he again chose the pain just to be near her. He kept from her his anguish and
anger, an actor once again on life’s brutal stage. He saw no point in a raw display of emotion, we want what we
want and she was no different, but then that may have been his failing from the start. Away from her his
demeanor changed, his feelings held in check by sheer force of will. He became moody when the slightest thing
reminded him of her and poured his heart out to himself and god. At night he couldn’t bring himself to sleep for
fear of the images of her that became nightmares in the dark.
He could wish her no harm. His own designs upon her had been to make her happy, now she was, and so he
was undone. He came not to trust his imagination. As if to comfort him, she had told him they would not
change. She had put her foot down when the other objected, insisting she would not give up the time she
spent with him. She quietly said things that his imagination formerly would have built castles on, now they trailed
away into whispers bereft of fantasies. And each day he died a little more inside, for he knew time would eat
away at their union.
Alone he questioned who he was. His memory pillaged as it relived sacrifices and shared moments for the reason
he deserved no reciprocity. He withdrew and struggled to fight of the demons of depression that lurked at the
turn of the next hour, every hour. He could hear the ticking of the death knell of this ...thing they had. Like the
inevitable coming of the dawn, it's inexorable approach a feeling that crept into his soul and ate away at him bit
by bit, bite by painful bite until he was sure he would go mad. And all he had left was the pain.
Love hurts.
The first time he saw her, it was like magic.
She came around the corner, a cool swagger in a cream colored pantsuit and an orange blouse. She was to him
a dream come to life. On her elfin face, a wry grin that said that there was more than meets the eye. And he
knew he had to meet her. In time he might ask himself why, but at that moment he knew no more than he had
to. But he hesitated.
He realized his professional situation later was trending towards a rehash of his previous trials, and that it was
best to escape now before the pressures mounted. But he'd yet to meet her; there had been no opportunity,
no moment to seize. And so when offered that door of professional respite, he stepped back, for he knew if he
left he would never meet her. In his mind, at the least, she was worth the gamble, worth whatever came.
Only he was shy. An odd kind of shy, in the sense that he could be gracious, friendly and witty and aggressive
with women who if they rejected him it would cause him no issue and he would simply move on. But he could
also be self conscious, nervous and timid with a woman of whose opinion he'd mentally assigned some value, to
whom he already given a kind of importance. If these women rejected him, he would be lost. A paradox for an
intensely social man.
And she'd had an importance from the moment he saw her.
She eventually approached him. Months even years later, he was still unsure of what provoked her action. He
knew he wasn't especially physically attractive, once joking that if he'd been a girl he'd had have been the one
described as "having a great personality". They had barely even said hello in passing. But it happened just the
same. He liked to think that she'd been compelled by some unknown force to do it, signifying fate.
Using the medium of the moment, they conversed daily on the firm’s Instant Messenger. Their conversations
long and varied until one Friday in a fit of madness, he tentatively asked her to lunch the next day. A lump had
sat in his gut while he waited the eternity of thirty seconds for her answer.
Out and about they got along famously. Had it been something as simple as just pursuit of the flesh, a sweaty
night of fusion and passion, they might not have gone out three times. Instead they went from pub to bistro,
to cafe and steakhouse and fell into an easy melody of good times, warm conversation and quiet moments.
They shared childhood photos and dreams. They shared stories, philosophies and desserts. They saw winters,
sat in summers, spent years. He supported her activities and sacrificed to help her reach her goals. He eschewed
other opportunity. His imagination took over, and ultimately betrayed him as it read between the lines, in spaces
where there were no words.
Although they had discussed the issue on occasion, who they were in relation to each other, what they were
and they weren't, their actions never changed. They acted in concert, complaining when they weren't in sync,
flowers and presents and nicknames, but in reality they may have well have been glorified strangers. His
attraction grew, and she forbade him to leave. But they were just words and actions; the currency of a new
world relationship was something else entirely. She chose elsewhere.
Although it pained him, he stayed. In his mind from friendship sprang real love, so they really were friends. With
the choice of the dark or escape, he again chose the pain just to be near her. He kept from her his anguish and
anger, an actor once again on life’s brutal stage. He saw no point in a raw display of emotion, we want what we
want and she was no different, but then that may have been his failing from the start. Away from her his
demeanor changed, his feelings held in check by sheer force of will. He became moody when the slightest thing
reminded him of her and poured his heart out to himself and god. At night he couldn’t bring himself to sleep for
fear of the images of her that became nightmares in the dark.
He could wish her no harm. His own designs upon her had been to make her happy, now she was, and so he
was undone. He came not to trust his imagination. As if to comfort him, she had told him they would not
change. She had put her foot down when the other objected, insisting she would not give up the time she
spent with him. She quietly said things that his imagination formerly would have built castles on, now they trailed
away into whispers bereft of fantasies. And each day he died a little more inside, for he knew time would eat
away at their union.
Alone he questioned who he was. His memory pillaged as it relived sacrifices and shared moments for the reason
he deserved no reciprocity. He withdrew and struggled to fight of the demons of depression that lurked at the
turn of the next hour, every hour. He could hear the ticking of the death knell of this ...thing they had. Like the
inevitable coming of the dawn, it's inexorable approach a feeling that crept into his soul and ate away at him bit
by bit, bite by painful bite until he was sure he would go mad. And all he had left was the pain.
Love hurts.
Well, somebody had to read it sometime.
A story that might have happened. In another time, in another place. As it is it is a fairly
decent piece of writing. A little maudlin towards the end, but life isn't aways sunshsine
and roses.
A story that might have happened. In another time, in another place. As it is it is a fairly
decent piece of writing. A little maudlin towards the end, but life isn't aways sunshsine
and roses.