:: The Soundtrack of lust ::
Like most people, I’ve had my share of infatuations. These situations are different from the just a girl I met”, or “we dated”, or “a girl I hooked up” with or even someone I wind up calling your girlfriend. These are rare instances that we tell stories of regret about, that we look back upon and wonder “what if”, that we never forget...that always end poorly for us.
Infatuations are typically characterized by grandiose visions and fascinations of someone you know you cannot have. Someone who intrigues you just because they’re so different from what you’re used to and for some reason they decided through fate or chance to pay a little attention to you. And because of their unavailability or unwillingness to share your vision for a future together they reduce your suaveness to the stuff of grade school playgrounds. Words are fumbled. Notes are scribbled poorly. Everything is unrequited. It is like there is something magic about them that is so over and above you that your efforts to impress come out unrehearsed and desperate.
I am in said situation now. And I’m flailing recklessly.
By fluke or drunken charm, I picked up a girl who was working the coat check at a bar. Turns out she was a former model, turned actress. She is everything that is wrong for me – unreliable, a party-er, too young to relate to, has kissed way too many boys, and most importantly doesn’t have time for me.
But she is hot.
And somehow I managed to coerce her into having dinner with me which turned into a 30 hour date with all the fixings. And because she showed me a little interest, she now has me on a string. She tells me that she thinks of me. But I think that’s just a part of their charm, the infactuatee’s way of keeping you close, having options. For me, I know all too well that that I hang onto every word. Each sentence is scrutinized. Each email carefully read and reread for hidden symbols. When she messages me out of the blue, my heart skips a beat and my faith in our soulmateness is resurrected. I know that my gaze stays on her longer when we’re together and that I check her out on Facebook status far too often (God forbid she has IP tracking). I have the soundtrack from 500 Days of Summer in my head. I’m creating our own remix tape. And the memories that I have together, I relive over and over. I constantly plan our next date and then our next one after that and know our children’s middle names.
This is not going to end well.
But until it does I’ll enjoy every moment of this tragedy I’m playing out.
Like most people, I’ve had my share of infatuations. These situations are different from the just a girl I met”, or “we dated”, or “a girl I hooked up” with or even someone I wind up calling your girlfriend. These are rare instances that we tell stories of regret about, that we look back upon and wonder “what if”, that we never forget...that always end poorly for us.
Infatuations are typically characterized by grandiose visions and fascinations of someone you know you cannot have. Someone who intrigues you just because they’re so different from what you’re used to and for some reason they decided through fate or chance to pay a little attention to you. And because of their unavailability or unwillingness to share your vision for a future together they reduce your suaveness to the stuff of grade school playgrounds. Words are fumbled. Notes are scribbled poorly. Everything is unrequited. It is like there is something magic about them that is so over and above you that your efforts to impress come out unrehearsed and desperate.
I am in said situation now. And I’m flailing recklessly.
By fluke or drunken charm, I picked up a girl who was working the coat check at a bar. Turns out she was a former model, turned actress. She is everything that is wrong for me – unreliable, a party-er, too young to relate to, has kissed way too many boys, and most importantly doesn’t have time for me.
But she is hot.
And somehow I managed to coerce her into having dinner with me which turned into a 30 hour date with all the fixings. And because she showed me a little interest, she now has me on a string. She tells me that she thinks of me. But I think that’s just a part of their charm, the infactuatee’s way of keeping you close, having options. For me, I know all too well that that I hang onto every word. Each sentence is scrutinized. Each email carefully read and reread for hidden symbols. When she messages me out of the blue, my heart skips a beat and my faith in our soulmateness is resurrected. I know that my gaze stays on her longer when we’re together and that I check her out on Facebook status far too often (God forbid she has IP tracking). I have the soundtrack from 500 Days of Summer in my head. I’m creating our own remix tape. And the memories that I have together, I relive over and over. I constantly plan our next date and then our next one after that and know our children’s middle names.
This is not going to end well.
But until it does I’ll enjoy every moment of this tragedy I’m playing out.
posted by behindtheyellowcurtain at 12:57 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home