Queen Of Her Castle

When I walk down the street I can feel the gaze/admiration of men. It is flattering, yet I do not want to be perceived merely as a sexual object. While I was buying bread at the bakery a guy looked at me and smiled leery. I want somebody to like me for who I am first, and then my body. Strangely enough, though, the men I enjoy deep conversations with I do not feel attracted to at all. And vice versa, the ones that I could imagine kissing lose their appeal as soon as they start talking to me. Oxymoron, as always. Where are the men in the middle and why don’t I ever meet them? Maybe I feel they are too good for me? This is so not a gratitude journal anymore. I am grateful for all, though. We went to see “Amelie.” I identified with that movie so deeply! Just like her, I am too timid to live my own life and would rather help everyone else with theirs. People somehow find it comforting to talk to me. However, when it comes to my personal life, I am like a clam. Possibly because it is kind of non existent, only vividly alive in my imagination. Someday, somehow, I magically find somebody who understands me without words. Do I? Am I going to? Will I? What is always circling in the recesses of my imagination is never prosaic, always poetic. Maybe that is my life and there is nothing more to it?

*

It’s so strange, this connection between Tom and I. We understand each other with no words. Something unspoken binds us. Lately we see each other more often, at the same coffee shop, ordering the same things. This evening, when they dimmed the lights, he held my hands in his on the table next to our drinks, and there was a feeling of longing. In the same way that I believe he knows something that I don’t know and I need to find out, I sense that he holds on to me for I give him something that he needs. I think I am so close, yet I cannot yet guess what is it that I need to know. He always alludes to something and then stops talking. What we impart to each other does not seem to be found in the meaning of the words, that’s why it’s so hard to write about our conversations. It goes deeper than this, and it is transmitted through presence, our eyes, touch. He feels dear to me, although I am not really attracted to him. He finds joy in everything and he is always so calm, I like that about him. The coffee shop is about to close, we leave. It’s dark and chilly outside. He holds my hands and kisses my forehead. He does not want to let me go. I slip away. I will see him again.