He is so beautiful. A beautiful man. That almost aquiline nose, that perfect profile, the bright black eyes amidst the brown, brown skin; straight shoulders, tall. How beautiful even there on the street corner, slouched, sitting on the curb, waiting for me. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, this is one of those- those tryst-descriptions, things you don't need to know, that most lovers seem to need to tell. Believe me, when it happens to me, I won't be telling a soul. It's too private, that stuff.
This is my friend. My best friend.
And now you are sceptical. We do moonlight, in a way. This is how we meet, meeting to talk sitting on a not-so-busy corner of a bustling street, quietly. I'm pausing here, amidst the crowd, to finish telling you this, finish explaining, before I go to sit near him, because then we cannot be interrupted. And before that, you've got to know.
Why ? Because they're all wondering. Wondering how long we'll keep this up, before we go the hollywood way, and end up just one more sheepishly grinning and surreptitiously PDA-ing pair. We aren't going to. I wanted to tell you. Sorry if I let you down, but I suppose I believed those movies at some point too. Until it just didn't happen to me.
It's happened to a lot of people, about him. Girls gather in corners to sigh as he passes. I couldn't talk in front of him initially. He seemed so complete, finished, with al the friends he needed, all the world he had room for. What was I going to give him that he didn't have? But it wasn't about that at all, as it turned out.
Cut to the stuff, you're saying now. We're both of us in a hurry, and I want to pass my judgement on your future before both of us get late. Alright.
We talked. Talked in between everything else happening, not really a significant first talk or anything, we weren't realy very interested anyway. Not much in common. And there were lots of more interesting people around for both of us. Talked again in a rickshaw going somewhere in a bunch, and then some other times. I listened, mostly, not comfortable enough to talk. I think I must be a good listener. At some point, we began to stop each other in the hallways to narrate incidents. Barely ever talked no the phone, though- never enough balance. I don't remember the exact timeline, something and then something else, and then something else. Eventually it came to where we are now.
Feelings ? Comfort. Not that perfect understanding where neither of us have to explain anything. I explain what I mean when I'm being vague, and he tells me I'm being an ass. He explains what he means when he's being hi-fi, and he tells me I'm being an ass. But we do understand each other, in this odd way. He understands the face I have on when I'm getting into character. I understand when he doesn't want to talk, and why. I understand that he's a child in some of the most annoying ways possible. He understands that sometimes I feel all lost and rescue-me, and gives me the lack of encouragement that I need. We're children and teenagers and adults together, but hardly ever the same thing at the same time. But when our moods coincide, I can remember every word of every conversation, and they all glow.
I can't fall in love with him. Not ever. And I can't explain why. There's no reason- no incompatibility, no issues of any kind. When other women talk of him possessively, I don't care. He's mine more than he is his girlfriend's even, as of now. She's new. He's going to tell me about her, he's texting her now. I'm certain he's going to tell me, and at length. He's looking at me, and his face is funnily besotted, and yet, still in command of hs sense of humour, which saves him, and will save me this evening.
I don't know if I've explained, in my messed-up, roundabout way. I might have; if not, I will later. I'd love to be in love with him, but he's too close, slipping right under my radar. My radar is on, by the way. If you know anyone interesting, let me know. See you in a bit.