Friday, 23 May 2008

• Currently Reading The Master and Margarita By Mikhail Bulgakov see related

  A Pear as Large as the Moon, and just as sweet

  Our eyes met from across the room. I know, I know- it seems cliché, but this is how it really happened.

  Myself, I’ve always said that because love is unpredictable and indefinable, it can’t be orchestrated, it can’t be learned or taught, and it certainly can’t be explained. So it goes to reason that love, therefore, cannot be bound by any set of rules. Love does not conform to expectations.

  Maybe I had met her before. I myself find it hard to believe that I could simply look up, and fall in love. But there you have it. What can I say?

  I could say “I love you.” I could walk up to her in the middle of her dinner and say “I love you.” Casually place my hand on the table and interrupt her quiet solitude for “I love you.”

  “Excuse me miss- but, I love you.”

  Would she even look up? She’d seen me, yes, at first, when our eyes had met, but perhaps that was simply an accident. She’d really been looking past me, or through me. Was I enough to occupy her view once more? I, with my unsubtle -but certainly invigorating- declaration of love, was I enough to coax those eyes from Bulgakov? Enough to tempt those lips from Darjeeling?

  Enough for her to entertain for just a moment, one brief moment, the thought of reciprocity?

  I think she will not see me as I leave. I think she will not think of me until tomorrow-

  when we might meet again, and I am given another chance to say:

  "I need you."

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