Tuesday, July 18, 2006


The Philharmonic concert in the park ended right on time, as the lightning filled the sky and hundreds of people ran for cover. It was a sight to be seen. New Yorkers, who are normally terrified by the slightest drizzle and instantly pull their handy dandy umbrellas out of the magic bag, were walking leisurely through three inch puddles and diagonal rainfall.

As I ran home in heels, I thought about who I had just bumped into. It was someone I didn't think I would see tonight, and yet I wasn't all that surprised that he was there. It's an awkward situation to be in, to sit two blankets away from someone you have been intimate with, and yet not be able to make any sort of move. No kiss on the cheek, no touch on the shoulder, no extra long mysterious gazes. I was on the coy side, subtly flirting with a guy next to me, but I couldn't help myself from gazing in his direction, seeing if he was flirting with anyone on his side of the blanket, watching his smile, his big blue eyes. It was a childish game. Way too childish for folks our age, but sometimes even the most juvenile of actions results in the most passionate reactions. I suppose.

I went home alone, despite his request to follow him. We talked on the phone briefly, both of us still soaking wet from the storm. I wanted to tell him what a crappy day I had, how I was worried about my mom's health, how I wanted to kiss him goodnight, how as much as I am attracted to him I'm not sure I fully trust him and therefore am reserved when I am with him, how I am so proud of myself from moving on from past loves and how I am ready to find someone completely right for me, how I'm afraid I am incapable of being alone. But how do you tell this to anyone? It seems to be so easy for some people, and yet it so easy for me to keep things tucked away in my head. Perhaps it's just a habit that needs to be broken? Or is it something that requires much more effort? Perhaps this is the first step?