Our rendez-vous was arranged one week in advance and coincidentally happened to be on the Valentine's Day. It may have seemed hilarious and awkward in the beginning, but I have spent a whole week worrying about what I would wear, say, do... I have devised a plan A, plan B and so on until I ran out of the letters in the alphabet.

Naturally, I would have hated to search for him in a room full of strangers. People's faces always made me anxious. I hardly ever recognised them, I'd remember someone's posture, voice, the gestures they make, the clothes they wear, instead of their face - a set of lines drawn to carry our emotions, yet I'd rather have them fixed and rigid in perfection of the emotionless display. The anger, the sadness, the disbelief, the fear, you name it and there's surely a facial expression forming at the back of your mind. But what facial expression does one make when he loves you? Is it a piercing stare, corners of the lips slightly tilted upwards, may be? I could never tell. Reading the emotions off people's faces reminded me of reading the ubiquitous advertisements in the metro so I've figured that I should leave the calvaire of recognising your date in a crowded cafe up to his experte - he's a photographer nonetheless, he must have some professional skill of reading in between the lines of facial expressions.

I couldn't decide what to wear today. I just stood in front of my closet, open like a mouth of a grave, and stared into the unknown. My indecisiveness did seem coherent though, as odd as it may sound. I was reluctant to consider the possibilities, I was gawking at the limitless amounts of phantasmagoric joy of my own possessions in the same way as I would stare into the screen at the blinking cursor mesmerized at my own possessiveness, awaiting a reply. The line was still blanc. And all I wanted was one comforting word from the man I may at times consider my prized possession. I was ready to grab him through the cellular phone lines, hold him tight like the air in this room, still scented of his flesh, never let go - hide him within the depths of me, within the creases and folds of the costume. I'd fold the cloth, I'd tie the knots a tad too tight.
Fully enrobed I'd take him to the sea, I'd poise him atop a cliff and let the salty winds dishevel his hair. I'd take him on a journey through the wilderness of the rocky beaches to watch the vegetation glisten like a fur of an unruly beast, basking in the coastal sun surprisingly tranquil, yet ready to break this ethereal silence any minute with an uproar and scramble the steep shore with gushes of wind, swirling upward. Then we'd head back past the shrubs riddled with thorns and branches like prongs that scratch the coastal winds and make the seagulls giggle.


Post a Comment