Venting Ire

Venting Ire

I'm bored. Nature Boy has been elusive for quite some time. Work does that to you. So, yes, I'm venting here. I'm venting like the typical love-sick moony ass you read about in Shakespeare and the Dancing Dimwits. I'm venting. I'm sighing. I would love to be doing a whole lot of other stuff. But I'm not. I'm going to have biryani at Noorani's in a short while with some friends, but I would rather be sitting on Marine Drive locking fingers with Nature Boy.

Damn. Never thought I'd be in this situation. Scary to think he should ever come in here and see this post and get the jitters because I'm going gaga over him. But I'm going to risk that. Because I'm me. Wow. And, I'm bored. And I'm moony.

Excellent flow of logic. Would flunk the simplest flow chart examination.

I want the royal treatment. I want the seat by Marine Drive. I want the wind through my hair. I want the twinkling lights in the distance. I want the music magically drifting in from somewhere, singing words that mean the universe. I want the lingering kiss. I want the subtle wink, shy and embarassed at what we're feeling. I want the idea that so many things are, at the end, possible.

I want to sound flippant about it all, and seeing that I'm not managing that at all, I want to control myself.