Feb. 10th, 2012
more than you think
If you were to ask me which fictional character I related to the most out of any I'd encountered? For a very long time, the answer would have been, "The Phantom of the Opera." Too shy, too inexperienced, too tangled in the pressures put upon me as a child regarding my sexual preferences - oh god oh god what if I turned out to be gay? - I chose instead to bottle up my emotions and, like tortured Erik, look longingly at love from a distance, unsure how to not be a ghost.
And so I am a creature with a long history of fluttering at the edges of attraction.
He walks into the room wearing glasses and a suit.
I forget how to breathe.
He half-smiles at my reaction. "I don't get it," he confesses.
He has dressed for me, suspecting the way my heart would flutter; yet in the face of my inability to see anyone but him, he is almost frowning his confusion.
I look forward to showing him, in private, exactly how much I like that outfit.
Will we end up finding somewhere to begin?
I place my hand along the side of his face, his cheek against the curve of my palm. "I'm allowed to do this."
I don't think he sees the ghost fluttering in my eyes, the tragic tortured phantom stepping off my internal stage, maybe for the last time.
Our lips touch in something more than a kiss.
and I know how to leave
maybe I ought to stay
until I'm home..
There was a time we seemed impossible. In the quirky twists of my inner time-scape, I may always be the woman longing for these moments - the woman reaching back through time to reassure my past-self that yes, this is your future - the woman celebrating a lifetime in his arms.
I touch his face again.
There aren't enough ways to say "I love you."