One minute you’re laid out flat by an emotional k.o., the next you’re musing on the sunlight bouncing off someone’s damp face. Desire is that way. It raises the dead, makes the heartsick run a half-marathon(figuratively speaking, of course. Never get the impression I ran because of some man.) I thought I wanted one person and lately I find myself wanting another. Blame it on hormones, the news of my first nephew/niece, another best friend’s wedding, or the profusion of brown-skinned Spanish-speaking men around these parts. In any case, I have men on the brain.
My big breakup was over three years ago. In place of nostalgia and bitterness, I feel like I’m starting over. I’m back to my post-adolescent crushin’ and post-twenties restlessness. I have to relearn how to get past the desire of the eyes and the mind, how to transcend the desire of the body. First, I have to stop being so damn scared of my own thoughts and feelings.
I do like someone. I am intrigued by him as immature and intimidated as he seems, familiar flaws I know too well. But there’s someone else now. He’s not scared of me. Watching him in the afternoon heat made me feel all thirty-four of my years. That’s a good thing.