There he is. Every time he walks by it is like his cologne is his ghost, wisping fine, smoky trails that float into the air; am I the only one that can see? His aura has so much of a personality of its own that it seems like there are two of him. His appearance is exceedingly beautiful; his ironed dress shirts elegantly tuck into his dark wash jeans and fall to his brown, leather shoes. His skin looks as smooth as the cappuccinos he says he does not like. His body holds a face that brags of God’s craftiness; on top, his face is capped with dark, evenly cut hair, while a clean chin strap accentuates his jaw line. An espresso brown curls in the irises of his eyes, while the shape of the surrounding skin makes it seem like the eyes themselves are smiling. He walks with a shy, quirky confidence, and his lingering, espresso gaze follows behind his steps like wisping smoke, with his head turned back to watch what I hope is my figure. His figure—superbly more attractive than mine—is built with an established design of muscles that move breathlessly with the fibers in his clothing.
Today his dress shirt was a creamy white with a dark, delicate design. He was walking quite a distance away from me, but all the same, I felt a magnetism between us. I felt him looking, as if there is a wire connected in between my retinas and his that forces our gazes towards each other. I refer to them as “gazes” because they seem intentional. He always—every time—positions his body to face away from me, but turns his head halfway over his shoulder so he can quickly turn back if I catch him looking. He acts as if it is a crime to be attracted to someone.
Only once have we had a sincere conversation; only in that moment have we really acknowledged each other. You had messaged me—on facebook of course, because I do not have your number—and said that you felt like we needed to talk about what was on your mind. I’ll be honest, my hopes were elevated so high that my body was overcome with a fiery, panging anxiety. We met at ten o’clock in the night to walk outside; the air was just becoming warmer as the season changed from winter to spring. The breeze blew ever so much that I could have settled down close enough to you to feel your heartbeat and warmth of your smooth, cappuccino-colored skin. I could have pretended to gaze at the stars but all the more gaze into you because the beauty God has placed within you surpasses the stars’ distance, brightness and heat all combined.
Instead of lying down and ignoring your pressing matters, we walked a good, swaying distance apart so our hands could not touch—not that you would make them touch, anyways. The shyness that envelops your quirkiness might be the only thing about you that slightly bothers me. I could have cried when I heard what was bothering you. You say you had been leading me on. My maturity rang loudly in that moment as if God was weaving confidence into my posture to let my brain waves emanate a sense of understanding.
Half of me gets why you do not want a relationship, but the other half of me is constantly screaming at you. We pass on the sidewalk, exchange a gross, undepthful, “hey,” but when we are a short distance apart my body feels like each bone and tendon is disassembling as I scream, heatedly, trying to tell you that the best, life-changing things happen during circumstances that we are not ready for.
I smile, you smile. We exchange our simple greetings. I watch you look me up and down as I stay gawking at your beauty, your closed mystery that I apparently cannot open, and your steady faith in God that would help me keep myself in line. There is so much more to you than your physical appearance, and people do not seem to understand me when I say this. They have not felt your pull. It is your faith, confidence, dedication to whatever you do and to your family. Most of all, besides the involuntary attraction I have towards you, your recognizable laughter and sly, sideways smile curve your eyes upward and make the whole world feel like it is turning towards me as you meet my eyes. I only felt this specific magnetism once, I guess it can only happen when our bodies are close enough that it is impossible for us to ignore our attraction.
And so we continue. We are almost acting as if we only recognize each other’s faces, like we had not talked about the possibility of a deeper, intimate relationship. I have never touched the seeming warmth of your skin, and you have never touched mine. I guess this is for the better; if we were to touch, the magnetism may make us never pull away from each other.