The temperature outside is below 50 degrees. The heater fights to keep the house warm. It’s just the computer, a contagious reality television show, a form fitting t-shirt hugging my body, and a blanket resting comfortably over me. I’m all alone, but he is on my mind.
His interests are starting to intrigue me. No rap music. No R & B. Neo Soul is calling my name. His body is continually telling me to touch it. His brown skin, I can’t help but love it. My ideal fantasy is to get lost in his brown skin, so I won’t know where his ends and mine begin. His voice is weak. Something in the way he speaks lets me know that he needs me. But his voice is also strong. I know that if he just commanded my attention he’d get it. His eyes are inviting. When I look into them I see both a past that he’s fighting to leave behind and a future that he might just want to create with me.
The computer and television fight for my attention. The computer invites me into the world of Facebook. It says “Reveal your thoughts, post an unlimited amount of pictures, and wait for people to respond. Then it shows me twitter. It says “Never stop thinking. Reveal all of your thoughts and your every move. Make typos and never correct yourself. Then it opens me to the huge world of blogging. It says “Think carefully before you post and write as if the world is reading. The television tells me to get lost in other people’s creations.
There’s a knock at the door. I hesitate to answer, but it is inevitable. He’s there waiting for me. With the blanket covering me, I let him in. I want to see him as strong, but he is weak. He’s trying to block out bad experiences; the crazy ex-girlfriend, the years of being ignored because of his nerd behavior, the alcohol addiction that he still consistently engages in, his lack of confidence. He’s here, but he doesn’t feel like he belongs. He thinks he lacks everything I need. So I show him that I’m weak too.
First goes the blanket.
I’m cold. It’s always cold. I need nice strong arms to wrap themselves around me. His would work.
Then I lose my t-shirt.
It’s a loss of self confidence. From my feet to my legs to my stomach on to my face, it’s hard to love me the way I am. Too many years I’ve been told I’m too skinny, barely existing. I try to make myself feel better, look pretty. Make-up is a girl’s best friend, but not everyone appreciates my looks. He can make me feel better. If he wants to he can learn to appreciate me.
Appreciate my feet.
Appreciate my legs
Appreciate my stomach while it’s still flat.
Appreciate my make-up because I love it.
Writing is my gift. It was there when I was an only child. It guided me through my college career. When I had nowhere else to turn, I used it to get rid of all my bad feelings. However, sometimes I wonder if writing is supposed to be my way of life.
He stands there holding in all his insecurities.
I stand before him trying to hand over all my insecurities.
He keeps saying he’s not ready. I’m willing to wait. But with patience will he finally appreciate me?