The Experiment

My longing for her touch was sated as if I had just taken my first bite from a long fast. The moisture of her lips was a sweet nectar. The taste rejuvenated me as my body became jealous of my lips. I felt a burst of energy that awakened my senses enough to realize how deprived I was of such life.

The man I was only wished to be coddled by her beauty like a child, but my pride would not let me crumble to her touch. I had seen her face many times and in many situations but never so close, so intimate. I combed the contours of her skin up and down her cheek. They were like plains of satin.

As the sun rises over a ridge her eyes pierced me with apprehension as if I was less than what could be her male counterpart if only for one night. I was forced to stop soaking in her beauty and kiss her again without purpose; just reckless desire. I wanted the first kiss to last forever. I wanted to touch her face with one hand. I wanted to experience her touch and at the same time just observe from afar. To play over and over again, for that first kiss would not come again. I was a train derailed, crashing into her with no signs of stopping. It was an out of body experience which I now can only spectate.

I still remember that first kiss. She was worth waiting for but it was a long road and many lessons before I received that kiss. The tale taking me to her was one of as much peril and pain as it was joy and jubilation.

I was just a young man traveling from place to place, city to city. Today like many days I was sitting atop the rooftop on the third floor of an old five-story apartment complex. Amidst the bustle of the city, I ran from the sounds in some book. The rooftop overlooked a small busy street with buildings on the other side. With clouds dancing to my left and to my right my face remained down in a book. I read here after work and one day I looked up and saw her.

She walked down the street with as much purpose as she did with allure. To this day I do not remember what I was reading. I was captured by her walking up the street. I put everything aside in my mind as I watched her. Her presence was like an impending danger. Anxiety and trepidation filled me as she opened a door to what I do not know. I never paid attention outside of the book in my hand. There was the sun, the city and the sky between. My entire life must have been in the clouds before her. But at that moment, the moment her hand motioned for a door, a place beyond I did not know, a place where I could not reach her. Purpose came to my vision. As the door closed behind her the city opened up before me.

It was a florist shop sandwiched between a bakery and a pizza place. My nose was alerted to the amalgam of aromas as if a common cold had just lifted. The sidewalk, the road, the people, and everything hindering my way came into focus. I could see her clearly.

Before the city welcomed me anymore she exited as fast as she entered and was around the corner before I could formulate a plan to meet her. As fast as the sight of her opened the world up to me, darkness enveloped me even faster. The pit of my stomach birthed a black hole that threatened to devour me from the inside out. The infatuation swallowed me, body and soul. My fast had begun. My mouth was parched and all I could taste was hunger. The balcony ledge from where I would read became a vigilant post. Each person who walked by was a preview for the main attraction. My schedule was that of the flower shop. I ate, drank and slept the thought of seeing her again. I would have died if I had not taken in water from the shower. What I was fell away; work, friends and family. There was nothing but her. The nights began with me leaving the ledge after the florist closed. Leaving my post, I placed my body weight on top of her memory. Letting my arms sag toward the ground before my body contorted to the fetal position from the pain of my loss. I became ashamed. Not ashamed of my state of being, not ashamed of what I was supposed to be, but ashamed of the fact I was not prepared for this longing. My shame was my lack of preparedness to act during the window of time I had to say something to her. Time to just say anything.

The pain of longing did not end. The only thing which took me out of it was a heavyweight punch of realization knocking me out of my deplorable existence and into the understanding that waiting, watching, hoping for her return would not get me any closer to her. If the sight of her put me in this state to begin with, what would another glimpse of her do? It would just be another fix leaving me longing for more. I had to act. I had to meet her.