What will follow is not a story of two people that you could label. You just couldn't be able to, the story would lack development. There's no established plot here, but a twisted account of fixation and a furious recollection of emotion. These are the problems, my problems. I can't stop living with the problems I see as incurable. For some time now, I've been viewing the outside around me as mostly blank and the inside of me subsequently feels empty. The ability to feel a connection to others feels like so much more of a struggle for me.
She'll hesitantly stammer, "You're more comfortable now, right?" This question ignites a certain sadness in me. It hurts so bad to hear her say it.
To me, my response is an affirming perfect truth, but her reaction will dispel everything. She doesn't believe me and there's seemingly nothing I can do. I'm away from my friends, my environment at last, and she is the only thing on my mind. Am I comfortable or infatuated? In either case I'm connected to her and am relieved by her presence. Her touch, eye contact, and words that follow mine will desperately try and convince me that my answer isn't revealing to her, but, in truth, her inability to understand me the way she wants to will eat away at her. The real truth is that it can't be so, me and her. It's so true and for me to already know this after just meeting her is sick. I could comfortably shed a tear after she asks her question because I know I'm doomed. It's already over.
I know it's over, that she'll never believe my honesty. She is an expert on body language, on tone, on any kind of human reaction. She can't avoid becoming confused with me. Her uncertainty is simply too much for her to handle, and the power of the next series of sequences is impossible to describe. It breaks me down to see her hesitate, to see her unsure about me. It makes me want to die...be someone else...to somehow possess a different quality in order to comfort her. My thoughts become more erratic.
Her beauty and charisma are without question. She possesses this ability to captivate me. You can tell she's never been torn apart by anyone else, but, been a force unattainable, yet undeniable, to the men she admits in her life.
She can read people, like me, except different. We are both heavily invested in each other's emotions, and maybe we each have a gift necessary to save the other, but we are somehow unable to give it. Throughout the night there is no save face, no recovery time, and no time for shortness of breathe. I can't be swayed by even the most convincing of exaggerations from most girls, but strangely, a few expressions from her make me feel in some way already connected to her. With her, it appears to be what I've always wanted- it's a dream world. She'll paint it in cool colors for me, something of an elaborate fantasy. It's a world that is so consuming I would give up everything to live in it with her.
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