draw on the table

I tried more than my best to sleep, but a fever and one million thoughts are holding me back.
Last week in a tweet I declared that I run to two people when I need to rant quickly and without someone judging me. Back then, last week that is, one of them was asleep and the second listened. Now, one of them is busy and the second is asleep. A dilemma it is…

I’ve been trapped in my thoughts for over two hours, not knowing where to turn. I lost all sense of comprehension, my senses mixed, I gazed and forgot the meaning on words. I was confused, I was lost, and I was not denying it. I gave in, then gathered my strength to focus. Then I fainted internally.

It’s not like any other captivating feeling. Have you ever been teleported somewhere so far away your jaw dropped? It’s relative and you might say you have. What’s your saddest moment? A moment of grief? A moment of failure? A moment of absence? My saddest moment is a moment of grief, and yes, I fear losing those who I care about.

Are we able to control each others’ emotions? Sometimes, guys love the attention they get from girls, and decide not to tell them they don’t feel the same just to keep receiving this attention. And sometimes, girls do that too. Do you ever feel like you have the right to control someone? It scares me to death.

[The below is my imagination, and this is now playing as I write]

It was like magnet. I drew on the table my approach at meeting someone. He looked so attentively, like a child observing a drawing. A drawing it was, and a child he is. And then he looked at me and smiled, as though approving of my approach. It scared me to death.

I sipped my coffee quietly, occasionally staring outside the window for a different source of attraction. It was his turn to draw on the table, and in a split second, I became the attentive child. He drew with objects, not with his finger. He put a lighter (me), and a pack of cigarettes (him) facing it, and then his phone (his right arm) and his coffee (his left arm), both “arms” pointing to the front.

This is me, he said, pointing to the pack of cigarettes. And this is you, he continued, pointing to the lighter. Why does it seem as though you’re surrounding me? I asked. I’m not, he ponders and looks at me. You are not moving closer to me, he continued, you are pulling me towards you.

And then there was silence. All the voices faded, all the music stopped, all the hearts stopped, and there were two pairs of eyes.

A hurricane? Yes, call it a hurricane. A tornado, a storm, a thunderbolt, a strike…

 

Truth be told, you’re made of gold.

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