Desire

What's funny is that I spent most of the time with her thinking about something entirely different. I thought about work to be done. I thought about my family. I thought about my dog, and grocery shopping and movies I wanted to see and books I was reading and anything else, but when we were apart, my mind was saturated with her. I was suddenly unable to get anything done, and wasted hours and hours thinking about her. About her hair up in a bun, the way she smiled, the way she crossed her legs and the way she gracefully waved her hand when she saw me coming, her hips and her breasts, her stomach and her lovely, luscious, lascivious lips. The way she held my hand and the way she rested her chin on my shoulder and kissed me on the cheek.

And when I saw her again, I was ecstatic for a minute - maybe two - before wanting everything but her.

It's strange, the way we only want something terribly once it isn't at arm's length. When we have to get up and look and search. And that was something I really had to do. She'd come by for a day or two, then she'd vanish for two or more weeks. Gone. Not a trace. I'd call and text and write her long e-mails and she never answered. Gone. And that dull ache in my stomach started again. And I'd wait and wait and wait, until the doorbell would ring shrilly in the night and she was waiting on my doorstep, greeting me as if she had never left.

It's strange, how she toyed with me this way. It's as if she knew.

It's strange, how I never loved her, but wanted her with such fierce hunger when she was away, and the moment she came near, the magic faded.

It's strange, how, now that's she's gone, I only have beautiful, delicious, lovely, ecstatic memories of her.

Oh, how I want her...