untitled communication saga (second part)
Six:
Gently – like a breeze on a summer’s day both metaphorical and comparable to the day’s climate – I bid my farewell and hoped she understood logic on account of her intelligent stance because of the books she carried. Conversation topics could go on and on ad infinitum – disregarding life’s responsibilities and other interests – if I was to continue on our aesthetic playground where the touch of a woman’s hand brought energy to the receiver. However, disappointments and conclusions had to surface, even if employed slowly but surely in the form of my pulling myself free inch by inch and slithering like a worm as a means of providing ticklish entertainment until the connection was broken finally and we could bow to each other and hope to see each other on another day. She apparently translated my intention by determining ours was a surreal teeter-totter of fun and she clung to me like a water drop reluctant to fall from the faucet. That was fine because tapering off slowly would result in a more amicable split. All evidence indicated I was right even if all clues were phantoms of my imagination.
Seven:
A one and a two and a… quick yank. However, nothing happened. My hand was caught and she was smiling mischievously, letting me know my plans would not converge with hers. She had that push-up-your-sleeve business woman attitude of insisting things would go according to her wishes and our business conference had not resolved successfully. Further negotiations would have to be presented by me. I imagined she would listen to everything I said and disregard all of it because I did not come from the sort of administrative training in which she was raised. For all intents and purposes, I could moan and gripe while she took it all in with a smug attitude and kept me at close bay. I was the insect caught in a hand trap cloaked by a soft feminine exterior with a clever ability to make situations more complex each minute. My next recourse was to figure out anything at all.
Eight:
I inspected where our hands were joined… looking for clues as if her fingers were tea leaves and the way they were gripping me would provide a key to my future. I was becoming a detective to a mystery that could not be solved unless I found an escape. If our situation was make believe or a script for a teleplay, I could think of anything I wanted as a next step in our plot but something about its realistic veneer and the sun and the weather and the street noise and the unexpected quality of the scenario made me more nervous each passing millisecond because I was unsure if I was in the next chapter of a meeting that started previously. We could have been good friends and long handshakes were our usual way of greeting each other unless I had decided smartly on alternative greetings while she ignored my requests. Right now, all possibilities were confusing me.
Nine:
Time told me to employ a poker face so my nervousness would not get the best of me. She wanted to keep me in suspense. Was she one of the women at the library who giggled at me and pointed because they knew I was looking at them? I could not tell but I knew that her persistence was more annoying than attractive. Ironically, such was how yin and yang worked. She had that silly girl mentality… making one irritated. I merely encouraged her to metaphorically tickle me and stay put like a shadow mirroring aspects of myself I did not want to face. She must have known I thought she was attractive and she was making me face up to such with every moment we were connected. I was wondering if I could go out with other women while she held on to me but such thoughts were my allegorical mirage while I trekked the fathomless desert of realization while the day moved closer to night.
Ten:
The ridiculousness of everything came clear: her behavior, my patience, the location and indifference from passersby. However, was “burden” the right way to describe this? I could define the moment as a bind because my hand was situated in hers like a tangle of string pawed by a kitten but there were far worse situations I could endure. I could use a word processor in a library, surrounded by a bunch of men breathing loudly or I could wander towards the downtown area and get approached by a panhandler begging for spare change. Whatever the reason for the final outcome, maybe fate was telling me what I needed to hear. However, I was not completely sure I could trust my judgment. I would have to cause further provocation.
Gently – like a breeze on a summer’s day both metaphorical and comparable to the day’s climate – I bid my farewell and hoped she understood logic on account of her intelligent stance because of the books she carried. Conversation topics could go on and on ad infinitum – disregarding life’s responsibilities and other interests – if I was to continue on our aesthetic playground where the touch of a woman’s hand brought energy to the receiver. However, disappointments and conclusions had to surface, even if employed slowly but surely in the form of my pulling myself free inch by inch and slithering like a worm as a means of providing ticklish entertainment until the connection was broken finally and we could bow to each other and hope to see each other on another day. She apparently translated my intention by determining ours was a surreal teeter-totter of fun and she clung to me like a water drop reluctant to fall from the faucet. That was fine because tapering off slowly would result in a more amicable split. All evidence indicated I was right even if all clues were phantoms of my imagination.
Seven:
A one and a two and a… quick yank. However, nothing happened. My hand was caught and she was smiling mischievously, letting me know my plans would not converge with hers. She had that push-up-your-sleeve business woman attitude of insisting things would go according to her wishes and our business conference had not resolved successfully. Further negotiations would have to be presented by me. I imagined she would listen to everything I said and disregard all of it because I did not come from the sort of administrative training in which she was raised. For all intents and purposes, I could moan and gripe while she took it all in with a smug attitude and kept me at close bay. I was the insect caught in a hand trap cloaked by a soft feminine exterior with a clever ability to make situations more complex each minute. My next recourse was to figure out anything at all.
Eight:
I inspected where our hands were joined… looking for clues as if her fingers were tea leaves and the way they were gripping me would provide a key to my future. I was becoming a detective to a mystery that could not be solved unless I found an escape. If our situation was make believe or a script for a teleplay, I could think of anything I wanted as a next step in our plot but something about its realistic veneer and the sun and the weather and the street noise and the unexpected quality of the scenario made me more nervous each passing millisecond because I was unsure if I was in the next chapter of a meeting that started previously. We could have been good friends and long handshakes were our usual way of greeting each other unless I had decided smartly on alternative greetings while she ignored my requests. Right now, all possibilities were confusing me.
Nine:
Time told me to employ a poker face so my nervousness would not get the best of me. She wanted to keep me in suspense. Was she one of the women at the library who giggled at me and pointed because they knew I was looking at them? I could not tell but I knew that her persistence was more annoying than attractive. Ironically, such was how yin and yang worked. She had that silly girl mentality… making one irritated. I merely encouraged her to metaphorically tickle me and stay put like a shadow mirroring aspects of myself I did not want to face. She must have known I thought she was attractive and she was making me face up to such with every moment we were connected. I was wondering if I could go out with other women while she held on to me but such thoughts were my allegorical mirage while I trekked the fathomless desert of realization while the day moved closer to night.
Ten:
The ridiculousness of everything came clear: her behavior, my patience, the location and indifference from passersby. However, was “burden” the right way to describe this? I could define the moment as a bind because my hand was situated in hers like a tangle of string pawed by a kitten but there were far worse situations I could endure. I could use a word processor in a library, surrounded by a bunch of men breathing loudly or I could wander towards the downtown area and get approached by a panhandler begging for spare change. Whatever the reason for the final outcome, maybe fate was telling me what I needed to hear. However, I was not completely sure I could trust my judgment. I would have to cause further provocation.
posted by lookingforlike at 5:06 PM
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