I live inside my head.
Most of the time there is an endless, pointless clamor of motion within the cranial walls of this city. Infinite discussions between the two sides of the coin that is my conscience….admittedly the darker hue mostly wins. Evil is always more fun. :) There is always a seamless thread of words flowing through this skeletal city that is my head. Scores of boundless similes and synonyms, a myriad of myths and metaphors…a rainbow of rhyme and reason.
But sometimes I need a respite from this city. Sometimes I am forced to live where I was created and not the haven I created for myself. Sometimes I close out the whispers and whims of my subconscious. And I listen. And once in a while…I hear something magnificent.
This was such a time that something flowed into me that I found faultless enough to quell the storms of words and when such a time comes, I take heed. I have always been a rogue individual. Saying outrageous things at the worst possible moment. Saying nothing at all at the moment it is required. Rules have always been a teaser for me. “Don’t you dare touch that cake Noelle.” We all know how that ended 
But I try to live by some rules. Be honest to those who matter. Don’t hurt people intentionally. Don’t have secrets that will destroy you.
So what to do when confronted by a situation where I break all my own rules, and still hear the chimes of enchantment?
I hate the place where I live, but I love it for the walk from my bus stop. Many life changing decisions have been made during this walk. No I will not watch that movie after all. Yes I will tell her that I hate her guts…ok no I won’t. Maybe we should eat chicken tomorrow. Yes, I must braid this hair. No I am not schizophrenic. Are you?
I always slow down once I get into my court. It’s calm…ever silent. And I have long accepted that a quiet still place and the darkness at the end of a day…that is my sanctuary. I know I’m going somewhere with this. Better get there before fatigue overcomes inspiration.
The neighbors cat and I have a strange union where he knows exactly which night I will not kick him but instead pick him up when he compliments my choice of footwear by rubbing himself deliriously against my feet. This was one such night. On this night I wore black boots and a black wraparound dress that draped at my knees and almost always revealed my bra if I wasn’t vigilant. On this night I picked him up, and I know he was confused. Well so was I.
One day I sat across a man in a cafe. Within a minute I found that there was no need for the voices to entertain me. I found something to listen to. It takes a certain man to attract my attention…quite another to keep it.
There are certain men….
Trouble.
There are certain men who demand your attention, not by first glance…not by first word. By simply…being.
There are certain men that were created to lead. Created to blaze trails that lesser men cannot dare to cross. Men who own this title…who need not proclaim it because it is ingrained upon each movement, every syllable…every action, each reaction.
The alpha male commands the room to pause when he walks in. His stride is effortless, bears no misgivings about his confidence. Evidence of the perfect balance between blatant arrogance and natural pride. Other men see this trait in him. Usually want to be in his circle, or hate him.
There are certain men…
Trouble.
Men who possess a distinct and outright flair in whatever field that they are in. If he is a doctor, he is the doctor other doctors respect. He is the flame that burns the most hapless moths…He carries out his tasks with an offhand ease that can infuriate you. Or enflame you.
The alpha male has mastered the art of charisma. Even karma sometimes eats out of his hands-he so charming. He seems to have the universe paying homage to his existence. He seems to have it all figured out.
Seems.
It takes a certain god-given talent to be able to show the world that you are the rock in the center of the raging stormy seas. And this man has that talent. Something I can easily relate to…aren’t I Queen to the court? But something else drew me to him…something that supersedes words. I saw in him a multitude of personas…and I felt with him restlessness…some inner churning of impatience-perhaps with the trivialities of this world, perhaps with himself. I could not tell…but it was there…some motion, something rushed and out of time. This is what lured me to him…this unnamed energy he seems to have. His cavalier charm…his muted entitled-ness…his scent. The scent of earthy, orange, tangy seduction.
Being around him feels like a constant test. His attention is next to impossible to keep. Sometimes I wonder how much time my mastery of double entrendres will buy me. Next month? Next week? Tomorrow? Fifteen minutes from now? When I am around him, I feel impossibly feminine. Like he has this hidden switch that instinctively turns me into this softer, more vulnerable version of myself. With him, I am not inclined to lead conversation lest I get bored. I find that if the topic is not to his taste, then it will die a quick natural death no matter what therefore I gauge his fancy and flow with his pace. He is a gentleman for sure. Perhaps a softie as well, but he’s bound to walk through fire before he admits to any weakness. When I am around him I feel no need to put any foot forward, for he has already decided on the dance that we shall perform.
This man…I suspect know I can only have for a season. Perhaps that is what I discover as I unwrap my feet from my boots on the night I wore a black wraparound dress that comes off with one tug of a strap. Perhaps I discovered this is why I wore black that day…the beginning of a natural end. Perhaps the cat wondered, as I fed him my dinner-no longer feeling the need to eat, or not wanting to erase the taste of his kisses…perhaps the cat wondered as I did, if I had finally met my match or if my body simply betrayed me.
And my body did betray me, for all my bravado. When he kissed me it was the exact same emotion as that of the first sip of sweet cold wine…that immediate sighing pleasure as it cascades down my throat. And his touch, so gentle as first-so bold at its peak…And when I am assailed by my own tears…when I cannot contain my shuddering weakness…that is when I know…I am in trouble. For what do you offer a man who has Kings and paupers alike adoring his existence? The cat stared at me as I held the last morsel. It barely blinked and followed my fingers with rapt concentration.
And it seemed to me that I am his cat, he holds in his fingers the morsel that I cannot tear my eyes from. He knows that I will stay as long as the morsel is present. He knows the sinful satisfaction I get from knowing I have the chance to taste it again…and learn its flavors…change its recipes…or maybe not.
Maybe I should get my brain split open. Sometimes all this postulating wears me down.
