The Model
Friday, November 2, 2007
Every morning when I wake up, I think of how my day will be much better than yesterday because of her. I think of her and how beautiful she is and how surprisingly delicate she is or how sweet she will be. I head in to work only to find that all I have hoped for in the morning when I wake are all true. It has come to the point where I look forward to going to work because of her and truthfully, I know how horrible it is to have come to that point but I just can’t help it. I can’t help but think about her, analyzing every detail about her, memorizing and learning things about her everyday. It is almost like a sweet lullaby you never want to stop playing. I am in a daze, in clouds, in an infinite warming sensation of everything I love. It can only be a dream right? If so, I never want to wake up from this beautiful, peaceful paradise that I am stuck in.
Now you may think that I have fallen for her, I am not. What I know is that it is blissful. Whatever I am feeling it is something I have not experienced in a very long time (not with The German, or the Gym Addict). It is a feeling I really can’t grasp completely but I am willing to accept it as it comes. I am willing to breathe. I am willing to be in that imaginary fairy tale that I have mentally created. My only wish really is to be able to let myself be.
You see, The Model gives me butterflies. I blush when she says things that are completely ordinary and yet unordinary. I look for my words, I look for ways to see what she thinks, or what she wants. I am clueless. Truly clueless. It’s almost like I forgot how to talk to woman. It feels like I am taking baby steps and with every step I feel like I may be getting closer to knowing her better than I did yesterday.
I am someone who hides the way I feel about someone. I carefully manage to hide every possible facial expressions so that she or other people don’t see me - the real me. She may have a clue, but I am not sure. I don’t want her to be scared of whatever is thrown at her. I don’t want to seem like a pusher. Because she is strictly dickly I am forced to fall back in line. I am forced to stay where I am in fear that I may project something that she isn’t ready to experience.
The way she talks to me, the way she tucks in her hair behind her ear , the way she turns red and can’t look at me in my eyes I know that there may be a connection somewhere. She is intrigued. She is curious. I know.
Sometimes I wonder if maybe I am wasting my time because I know that today might be my last day persuading her. And then, I think about how she has become something I want. How much I crave her and how happy I would be. So selfish of me. Maybe she wants me. I wont know until I ask her.
The other night at Cavalli’s party, she sat next to me, her hands on my thigh and a champagne flute in the other. She looked at me differently…outside of work, outside the suit, outside the corporate lies. She saw me; the lesbian, the girl who like girls, the girl who is real. That night I was comfortable, most importantly, she was comfortable being around my friends and I. That night, I felt lucky. I did not sleep with her and I wouldn’t unless she wanted to, I didn’t kiss her because she wasn’t ready. I held her hand and reassured that she was safe. With every squeeze she returned it with a gentle and delicate smile. I was in heaven.
There you have it. I am afraid to fall for her. I’m losing it. I admit it. But is she?
