Within The Lens
From the moment he woke up he thought of her. He had in fact dreamed of her and almost wished he could go back to the dream again. It had been so vivid and wholesome. Just the two of them out in the woods. Sitting by a fire, eating charred hot dogs and drinking wine. It had been perfect.
She was a wonder in his mind and a bigger wonder to his heart. He grabbed his phone to see if she had sent him a message while he had slept late. She hadnβt. He wanted to text her right away and ask how she was doing, how she was feeling, how her day was going and her plans for the day. He halted for a moment and decided to wait. He was afraid of looking too eager. Too intense and too much. He already was dreaming of the future they could have together and he was terrified to scare her away being himself. He had been told in the past how he could do this. Jump ahead and get too involved too fast, and he would usually get hurt by it. He would feel like the hot dog from his dream. All charred and black and bitter, and strangely cold on the inside. After a while he sent her a silly meme making fun of something silly. He wished her a good morning and told her he was off to work, but that he would like to talk to her later in the evening, should she be available.
He went to work, and he thought of her and so many things he wanted to say and to do together with her. It filled him with a fear and a sorrow. How could he speak these things aloud to her without seeming the fool and show the uncontrollable feelings he felt for her? He couldnβt. He didnβt dare. It would ruing everything and he would scare her away. He would hide it and cherish it deep down in his heart for now. But he still felt he needed the outlet of his dreams and thoughts. He needed to do something about the things he felt and desired. He had talked to other women that he didnβt feel much for, and this made it feel safer to him. He could play the role with them, have the outlet and thus be able to keep his calm and to control how he would behave towards her.
He made plans to go out and drink and be merry with friends that weekend. Maybe he would find someone to help him with his issues and disconnect from the worries and anxiety in his heart.
He cursed the love he felt. Love was such a fickle thing. So much to feel. So much worry and fear and doubts. Why would anyone want this. Yes, it was one of the most wonderful things he could feel, but it almost embarrassed him as he feared it. He would need to contain it unless he would make a fool of himself again.
The weekend arrived and he got good and drunk. He flirted with women and they giggled and played with their hair. He went home alone, but he felt relieved that he had been able to get his outlet. It would keep him safe, and it would benefit his relationship with her in the end.
The next day they chatted with each other. She was good to talk to when he was hung over. Or any other time too, really. She would make fun of him and how he drank and he would laugh and they would send memes and captions about ruined livers, kidneys and βthis is your brain on water. This is your brain in vodkaβ with a picture of some fermented kale in a jar with Russian words on it.
This was perfect he thought. He could talk and be as he wished towards her. He still felt the ache of his emotions, but they were a bit subdued now. He could act more casually, calmly and with – as he saw it – more confidence.
Yet. It hurt. It hurt so much that he couldnβt act and say and do all the things he wanted to. How he couldnβt show her all he wanted to. To show how he dreamer, thought, wished, desired, loved and wanted to be with her. It was too dangerous. Too many things that could go wrong and scare her away or hurt him. The only way he believed it would work – at least short term – would be to keep up with his plan. To act and play with other women so that he could stay in control of his emotions, though it hurt him and made him feel awful. But he didnβt know any other way. He couldnβt speak these things to her. He couldnβt explain it in plain words. He didnβt really understand it himself. It was too much. Too complicated and complex. He didnβt have much knowledge of emotions and feelings. And what to do or say to make his thoughts make sense was even harder. He wasnβt able to explain it.
Not to himself, and certainly not to her.
