The growing Want

Blue_Poles_(Jackson_Pollock_painting)I glance everywhere but in the one direction I want to look, that I’m desperate to look in. My eyes ricochet off the cars parked parallel on the roadside, to people clumped in their chatter around me, chatter that I’m lost in.

I look down at the scoria under me and notice my toes curled in my sandals. I realise they’re almost cramping, and my jaw is tight as my top and bottom teeth bite into one another. I ease my clench.

My gaze meanders up my leg to where my knuckles stand erect by my thigh, as shiny red and white bulging sacks that are about to explode from my hand. My fingernails dig deep into my palms, ready to release the effervescence.

I don’t think you know what you do to me, how you make me tremble in this heat. I cannot seem to look your way, although I did glimpse you walking toward me in this crowd of waiting, in your cool swagger and wearing your trademark, dark sunglasses.

My breath labours. I don’t know how much more I can bear, knowing that you’re standing behind me and wanting to speak to you but not knowing what to say. Words about how you make me feel marble and blend in my head. Never have my thoughts been so streaked.

More disconcerting is that you must notice my scramble. I shift my dress around my shoulders and look somewhere, anywhere. As I try to breathe deep, a hint of awareness comes to me and I sense that you don’t know what to say either.

I feel your twitching and searching eyes behind me, your own agitated splashes eager to release. I must find some courage. No one has made me feel like this before. If only you knew.

I spot a seat away from this waiting and head there for a reprieve of my trembles. You’re probably watching me. I tug at my dress to be sure it’s not riding up under the bag that hangs from my shoulder. I sit and breathe deep. A sigh. That’s better. Regroup for a minute, I tell myself.

With some air flowing back into my head, I look up and see you heading toward me!

‘Come to get away from the crowd,’ I say as you approach and without thinking.

‘Yeah,’ you say, and sit beside me.

To my surprise, I feel my body relax. We begin chatting about nothing and my uncomfortability begins to dissolve. Occasionally, my words tumble to land wherever they want, but the more we talk, the easier they flow.

I wish I could see your eyes though, hidden behind those glasses. A lot seems hidden behind them and the clothes you wear, the formal, crisp shirt and dark trousers. Only the curls in your hair seem natural and free to reflect the true you, relaxed as the rubber and leather bands that dangle loosely around your wrist.

Until I notice your knee bouncing nervously. You’re feeling what I feel too! I know it. Those Pollock sparks seem to be blasting brighter and bolder between us.

An attraction that can’t be acknowledged and that remains in my heart as the secret inside my secret.


*The growing Want follows on from an earlier blog, The Want

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3 thoughts on “The growing Want

  1. thoughtsontheatre February 19, 2013 at 8:46 pm Reply

    Your writing is beautiful.


  2. Marcela Cava Balsa March 7, 2013 at 5:34 pm Reply

    I like it!


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