Hunger

I move from one encounter to another. All I need to know I know within the first 10 seconds. Excitement turns to caution turns to skepticism turns to disappointment.

I stand. Alone. In the crowd of random strangers, appearing to have a semblance of an exhilarating time. My skin is itchy. I am wrapped in a light layer of some feeling that defies description. Suddenly, my head turns right and meets his sober look. He invites me to join him. I agree. Albeit reluctantly. Maybe this one will be better. The thought is more of a desperate belief than reality. His fingers touch mine. Soft lead. Our feet move to a rhythm, though mine don't match his. His hand is now touching my elbow. Protective. Very nice. Nice. Strange. Uncomfortable. Back to my hand. A deep realization of the hunger, of the thirst pouring through his fingertips onto my delicate skin. Skin is itchy. I don't want to be here. I need to end this. His large and mobile hips are undulating. His motion is difficult to read. He is difficult to read. I step away. I watch. I find an oasis of aloneness. The drum beat stops. Lips in a forced smile. Body in an insincere gratitude. Free at last...

If dance relationship is any indication of any other relationship, I see tremendous room for improvement.

I move from one encounter to another. All I need to know I know within the first 10 seconds. Excitement turns to caution turns to skepticism turns to disappointment. Occasionally, it turns into a pleasant surprise, and I am grateful to experience that gift. It is rare.