Walking passed the window where I sat, he suddenly stopped. Stopped in the way you do when there's a sale, or a shocking ad. Stopped in the way that you do when your favorite childhood something-or-other is propped up amongst an assortment of lost and unwanted things, but to you it's like seeing an old friend again. Only the shop is closed, so you shake the childish nostalgia from your head and remembering you have somewhere important to be, you walk on. Which is exactly what he did. He walked away. I continued to sit in the window of the restaurant, waiting for a friend to arrive, but I had most definitely noticed the young man who'd stopped and stared.
I'd been to the opera that evening and hadn't understood much. I wore my fatigue like something lovely come undone. Odd threads were pulled loose on my stockings and my mascara was flaking. I wore a purple beret only because my hair had lost its early morning bounce. Watching the people pass through the night, I knew how much more easily they could watch me in the brightly lit window. I was a display, a mannequin, selling the exhaustion of an American abroad. The wonder of such an exhaustion. I began to idle on my old women's studies courses, particularly the concept of “the male gaze”, and whether feminism will ever make amends with theory and practice when as suddenly as he had gone, he came back.
He stood right in front of my window, putting his palm on the glass. I returned his palm with mine, wiggling fingers in hello. He smiled, and walked away. He wore yellow or orange glasses with a similar frame as my violet ones. He was tall, brown hair and eyes. A little scruff. A book bag. Probably a college student, but he still might not even speak English. In ten seconds time, he stole my heart and turning back just once, we smiled at each other, and he disappeared into the crowd.
I am not used to romance in my life beyond my music and my books, in my dreams and in my writing. I have been told – often – that my expectations are just too great. I want too much from people. I'm better off with friends. Friends can be somewhat terrible people. Friends are allowed to be so individually flawed. Not that lovers can't be flawed - it's just more about that undefinable connection. I look at people as whole characters, and I appreciate their strengths equal with their weaknesses - I want to know their story, nothing more or less. However, the levels of friendship make it possible for the worse characters to be kept on the outside of the circle, but still within the story of your life. The nature of romance can't allow for that – they have only the inner most circle. This is too dangerous for a girl who can fall in love in ten seconds – if only they can properly get her attention. If the story will sound interesting enough...
Am I actually in love with this young man? No, of course not. But I am certainly and eternally in love with his boldness and connectivity – something I have never found much of in man or woman – friend or lover. Maybe it's a sign of an embarrassingly huge ego or selfishness, but I have trouble finding people like me. Even among my friends, who have always been my true family in life, I am often not on the same wavelength as them. Don't misunderstand me. I'm not assigning values of good or bad, better or worse, I'm talking about something so much more encompassing than that. Anyway, this doesn't really bother me because I seek out variety in my friendships. Yet, whenever we do actually connect it seems so bittersweet and extraordinarily fleeting. This is probably just the way it is and will always be – a fact of life – but if I exist just as I am, I have to believe in the mathematical certainty that there's someone else out there who thinks like me more than 1/3rd of the time. If I am ever meant to choose a single person to be my center circle - they're going to have to be a supernova. They're going to have to really be able to change my world...
Someone bold and passionate and ambitious – maybe too much so. Someone who can be silly and playful at times without a single regret. A sense of perseverance and a desire to do good. Who knows when it's time to be responsible, and when it's time to say “fuck it, life is short, let's just be happy”. A free spirit. A big heart. A thinker. Someone who can make you feel like a better person – and who lets you love them.
If you know this person, or a brown-eyed man living in Brno with yellow framed glasses and a thing for windows, feel free to let me know. Or maybe it's for the best if I never see him again...supernovas can be pretty explosive, you know.
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