Lipstick lust loss locked
He didn’t care about me. I know that now. I didn’t then.
He would enter in from across the room, a stranger, and my heart stirred.
I would lose myself in his eyes as he merely surveyed the room for a seat, inching ever closer.
I didn’t wear lipstick. There was no makeup on my face other than under my eyes.
I wasn’t trying to impress anyone. I was just sitting there in the auditorium, observing him.
He moved slowly but with purpose as if he knew someone was watching him.
It was lust at first, of course. How was I to think anything beyond being stirred by attraction.
His hair, his swagger, his clothes, his backpack, all symbols of a whole and fascinating being before me.
When he edged ever closer, I sat immobile.
When he spoke random words, I was at a loss.
I couldn’t think straight. I wanted to kiss those lips without lipstick…
And then one day, his eyes locked on mine.
What was he doing to me? What was he doing at all?
Was there purpose behind the stare? Was he toying with me?
Did he enjoy watching me respond awkwardly by shifting in my seat or lowering my head?
Was it a joke?
We got to the knowing stage. A friendship I guess it could be called.
I was in deeper, but he glided above the surface.
It was a closeness in proximity only, not meaning…at least… for him.
The days became harder. I was drowning in emotion.
How could I get so lost over someone who drifted above the surface?
It’s madness. It’s crazy. It’s just what the heart does.
It doesn’t consult with the mind. It never wants to listen.
The mind warns, reprimands, attempts to protect and save. But the heart wants none of it.
The heart beats in a different direction.
And so… when I fell, it was hard. It hurt, I broke, it was… ridiculous, now, as I look back.
Lips did meet but it was meaningless in the end, an empty collision of a lopsided view.
But you can only warn so far. You can only advise and hope and pray to save one from pain.
Regardless, the heart will take you where it wants to go.
And so, without lipstick, in the lust of a year or two or more, I was at a loss, locked in daze, a misty veil before me. I thought that was called Love.
I was wrong.
The tables did turn… eventually.
The “friendship” continued in its warped formation. And I let go of the dream.
He sailed on, and my steps grew stronger.
He conquered the world, and I grew bolder.
He settled into a routine, a shock of all things preposterous… and I happily and lovingly embraced my corner of the world.
And I am in it. And I am no longer in hurt. And I love and am loved for this is where I am supposed to be.
And I am happy for my place. And I …let go.
peekiequeen c. 2013
From the writing challenge “Write a story using four L words: Lipstick, lust, loss, locked,” in 642 Things to Write About, by The San Franscisco Writers’ Grotto.