Glaring across the room they sit, fingers intertwined, breathing synchronized. A playful touch on the nose and a rapid peck on the forehead solidifies their ties. Lovers. Months in and they’re affection never wanes. She tilts her head back and lets out a rambunctious laugh. He tickles her throat and they fall again into hysterics.
Carefully analysing their every move, another sits. She ponders on the significance of each gesture he makes towards his lover and each subtle grimace, She records and analyses. Hiding behind large hopeful eyes and a yearning heart, She stares.
She studies his lips, the smoothness of his freckles and the deep throaty laugh. Every motion he makes induces a throbbing, and a heat. She bites her lips. Her yearning unrequited, blocked by another woman she disproportionately despises.
On any given day, she would extend her hello. He would be alone, standing, poised, sexual, inviting. She would enter: makeup polished, blouse slightly unbuttoned, girdle choking her waist, perfume and pheromones languidly hanging between them. All a bid to arouse attraction and perhaps a spontaneous grab and grope. Far-fetched and delusional, she laughs at his jokes, gently squeezes his arm and subtlety licks her lips.
“C’mon! Find me attractive!”
Desperation begins to seep through her pores.
Conversation ensues: “So how about that Ronaldo eh?”
Football was her greatest weakness, but his laugh, his eloquent explanation of even the most mundane topics sent her skin hot, and her legs shaking. Though, it was all still unrequited. He gives in, talks, jokes, and then extends his goodbye with a quick hug around her waist. She melts.
She calls every girlfriend and every perceptive male friend.
“What does it mean?”
Opinions waver from:
“Nothing, possibly something, but most likely nothing.”
“You’re getting close, wear a tighter skirt. Talk about his interests!”
The chase is arduous. Eight months on, small signs processed and love-related data are then extrapolated. The protocol for obsessive preoccupation with one man has never been explained to her. She smiles broader, studies his interests to seem poignant and profound. Still all remains unrequited. Infuriation gathers when she sees him with a different lover: buxom, yet utterly unattractive.
With alcohol-fuelled rage, she sends him an Instant Message. Confidence and a technological wall in place, she sends a barrage of honest, bitter questions reminiscent of melodramatic teenage rejection.
“I really like you, don’t you feel the same?”
“Lol, really? I never thought you were interested.”
“Well, you never talked about yourself, and you seemed pretty distant and serious.”
[All my smiles were in vain?]
“Do you find me attractive?”
“Are you kidding? Every guy I know wants you. I just always assumed you were too serious for flings. Unless you’re interested….? Come over, or shall I pick you up?”
[Part disappointment/Part excitement]
The conversation turns from IM to phone. She laughs and her skin tingles over his sensual sayings of nothing and everything. Gentle boasting and soft coaxing, He imagines for them both. Yet still, Her hope rise & fall. Her obsession over the past eight months seem to have been over a personality she created to fit into a handsome human being that could never exist.
Now, He smiles, He calls. She ignores. All remaining unrequited.
Opinions waver from:
“Good, I told you he wasn’t worth it.”
“I don’t know girl, I think you still should’ve seen him naked.”