I knew a man like you once.
He was older and wiser – as wise as a young girl believes an older man can be. It wasn’t even his face. It was his soul. A deep dark feeling of mystery surrounded him and he felt old – but alive. It’s as if he knew me. He had probably been with dozens of girls in his life, he knows what my soul wants. More importantly, he knows what my body wants. He would whisper so close to my cheek, if I turned I could breathe in his taste. But I wouldn’t dare. He could grab my waist in the simplest way and it would make my body quiver. He tried to slip his hands into mine on a walk through the park once and I resisted. There is too much trust in holding one’s hand. I was not going to let him know I could trust him, that I would give my life for him at any moment. He would have to wait.
It’s not often one meets a literate soul equivalent to her own. He enjoyed the park and museums. We once sat by the lake for two hours talking, staring at the water. We didn’t even have to make eye-contact. Our souls were falling in love.
I’ve experienced it all.
This guy and the next were basically the same person. How could I be attracted to the same physical being? That’s an easier question than how can my heart be attracted to such different human beings? He gave me the adventure and occasional spark. He had it in his eyes.
I knew the man like you, but he wasn’t mine at all.