Wednesday, February 29, 2012

The Dreamer

I told him I liked how he smelled. He said it was called The Dreamer and then he laughed–embarrassed to be caught wearing a scent with such an insipid name–and then went on to tell me that he didn’t travel with it, since he didn’t have a travel size. I loved the name; it was the first close thing he shared with me to date. I liked him so much, yet knew so little. We were in bed, I don’t recall if it was morning or night or if it was our first time sleeping together or our third. He was an architect. Is one. Or rather now a teacher of architects. Future architects. A careful, methodical man, he doled his time out to me in the barest of measurements–one evening, never more than one, even if he was in town for longer–never giving me more than a centimeter of his time. I’d spend the week prior to his arrival relishing the knowing of what was to come, my mind preoccupied with thoughts of him, becoming forgetful of anything else I might need to do that week. That temporary place in between, of knowing I would see him and of seeing him, was a drug I couldn’t get enough of. Then, for every minute we were together, I would hope for that minute to be replaced with another minute, our time together never clocking out. I’d try not to hope for more–more time, more conversation, more him–but when I did I was disappointed. Or maybe I wasn’t disappointed. In the morning, after one last draw in of his skin, he’d lean down and kiss me goodbye, maybe I was in bed, maybe he was just towering over me in the hall, he’d say goodbye with no mention of the next time. The hardest part was when he was still in my city–knowing he was out there on my streets but not with me, how could he be on my streets and not be with me? I’d walk my city, seven by seven miles, following strangers, anyone over six feet, anyone with silver hair, a confidant stride. Only when they turned and I saw their eyes would I know it wasn’t him. I never saw him unless he planned it. I couldn’t control him or the progression of our relationship–an incredibly compelling feeling–not to be in control; even when it was so painful.

Monday, February 27, 2012

A Walk.

Should I set out on my walk? Using my feet I suppose being the first thing I can think of to embark on a walk but perhaps there are other ways I can walk and that these other methods might be the best way to move forward.  Or, does the very word walking necessitate that I use my feet? I would like to think that I could walk by crawling on my knees–that seems a fair substitute for feet when walking. Maybe I can walk on my hands, if that were something I were adept at, my not being very adept at it however will have to leave this possibility for a future trial. Before I start to walk I must weigh these prospects before I choose exactly the right one, my analytical mind craving extended bouts of contemplation before determining exactly the right pursuit. I will admit that in the past I have most often walked using my feet, not anyone else’s if you were wondering, but that’s not to say that I can’t decide, based on careful consideration–that the feet are a truly poor substitute for knees, or even hands–and therefore, starting today I hereby will solely use my knees. This new method I have devised will subsequently lead me to deliberate on the proper attire for such a drastic change in modes. I would presume that the status of using ones knees would require a much heavier cloth to enable movement, let alone the higher needs one has for comfort. Much like shoes I would need to fashion supports for my knees. These supports would need to be affixed to my legs with great care that they don’t wiggle or shift during activity, and then, I’ve just realized, what happens when I stand up? Should these new supports remain covering my knees or would I want them off, stowing them, for example, in a carrier, which I would also have to fashion or maybe I must make them small enough to fit in my front pockets. All of this talk of supports and the need to fabricate and measure and research, all of this discussion leads me to think I cannot set out on my walk today. Perhaps I will go tomorrow.