Awkward could be the next new “forward”, or at least I’d like to believe so. Shy spells and thoughts left unsaid, more dreamy than apprehensive, no time left to spare, and still, there was a night. A night of pairing tastes, musical and cinema founds and prompt matches to significant proportions. The music was good and so was the company. I didn’t even care if there wasn’t going to be a good end. I just enjoyed the night as it was. Nothing wrong or bad could come out of it, apart from the thought it’d have to end at some point.
Two strangers getting caught in silent statements. I reckon now, when I tried to start a sentence, my heart would race my brain and the passionate speech would come out clumsy and vague, just as probably I looked like. Or acted like. Body language was disastrously trying to be camouflaged by my polite manners so I wouldn’t scare him. Still, swearing would come out every now and again and I’d regret later, but forget all about it, all together. As the race inside kept going and there was so much I wanted to say, it was easier to imagine I was doing it. Because imagining it can make things perfect, by doing it so, I didn’t even realise I was just playing probably a role he was also familiar with.
Two strangers getting caught in silent statements. I reckon now, when I tried to start a sentence, my heart would race my brain and the passionate speech would come out clumsy and vague, just as probably I looked like. Or acted like. Body language was disastrously trying to be camouflaged by my polite manners so I wouldn’t scare him. Still, swearing would come out every now and again and I’d regret later, but forget all about it, all together. As the race inside kept going and there was so much I wanted to say, it was easier to imagine I was doing it. Because imagining it can make things perfect, by doing it so, I didn’t even realise I was just playing probably a role he was also familiar with.
His smile and composure. His precise and charming statements and I don’t really remember paying much attention at times, but I was there, all that time, wishing he knew I was falling for that night. His idea for a film, a silent movie maybe, and I didn’t need a second thought: the film was rolling and we were still discovering exactly the right words to say to each other. Very little came out, but so much happened. Some tunes playing in the background and everything seemed to be practice to the silent movie that intended to be subtle and insightful, just like his moves. I guess I really didn’t care what his intentions were, as long as they involved making the night longer, and ignoring the fact that, the two of us and our slow approach, was actually happening. The chemical reaction at the final line, heart and brain getting closer to the end, when the body stretches a mile, and catches up on everything, I saw two of the same characters finally reaching the high pitch, where I knew the night was over, but so much more was about to begin from that. Slow burning connection and all that jazz. I guess there’s still hope for the ones who suffer the same shyness we share.
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