Teardrops are a collection of short, slightly sad stories (but remember, there are tears of joy and of love), that exist for a brief moment before they are wiped, and shed every Sunday. Or when they are ready, whichever comes last...


by Antheros

Here he comes. I smile, we say hello to each other. I put my hand in his shoulder, holding more strongly than usual, while we kiss each other's cheeks. I think he noticed something, he looks at me with a questioning look. Perhaps it will be today. I don't say anything, I can't do anything, I can't move. He lingers for a moment, then goes back to his conversation, ignoring me. Did he get it? Is he playing a game with me? I ask him a question later, something that he could help me with. He sits and talks, smiling, giving me full attention. Sometimes I wonder what's going on in his head; at first I thought he was a plain guy, and when we talked about work he was a bit too passionate about it, knowing too much, the nerdish type. Then I realized that he hated everything. He knew it all because he did, because he had years of experience, but he was nothing like that. He became somewhat mysterious to me, as if he had a hidden facet that I could barely glimpse. Maybe he's thinking that I'm boring, asking these questions. I could ask him other things, but I'm afraid I wouldn't keep up and he'd think I'm stupid. He probably doesn't like dumb girls. I try to sound serious, show that I know what I want. I play with my hair, tilting my head slightly, and he barely notices it. He doesn't seem to try anything. Maybe he doesn't like me, I'm not his type. I wish I was a tall, slender blonde. I'm too fat, certainly, I need to loose at least six pounds. We could run together, he's fit, maybe he runs everyday; no, I don't think so. He's fit, but not athletic. He touches me when he comes closer to show something; his skin is hot, leaves an impression on my skin, but it seems completely unintentional. The other day, when he met me going to the cafe, he joined me. Asked a couple of questions about me, I wondered if he was going to ask me out, but in the end he didn't, and I felt cheap. He seemed as interested in me as an anthropologist would be, and I hated him. I let the conversation die, I was slippery, his questions were barely answered, I acted like a politician being interviewed. At some point, his attitude changed. Later, at night, I cursed myself, why did I miss such an opportunity? Today he's as friendly as ever, but a bit distant. Then I mention my boyfriend. Damn, why did I do that? I mention him in a way that makes him almost my fiancé. Now he'll definitely never ask me out. Only one or two phrases, damn, and everything is set. Maybe I'll dream of him again, tonight.

17 Apr 2005