Dreams and Illusions

I remember there being a man - and I felt attracted towards him. His whole stance, his whole posture emanated confidence - not arrogantly so. He was the type of person who wasn't afraid of what he wanted; he could get that with what he had. Around nineteen - the same age as my dream self. Mature. He wore a crisp black suit, the top button on his white shirt undone. Sharp jaw line; light stubble. Dark brown hair; light brown skin.

Black high heels; my long, thin legs extending from them. Black tights; modest black dress. Short sleeves, slightly dipping neckline. Collarbones. Dusty brown eye shadow. Long, dark, wavy hair.

I never saw my face.

I strode slowly and confidently towards him. I remember his eyes; dark. His smile; his lips stretched out slowly.

We were in something reminiscent of a dressing room; dim evening lights emanated from what seemed like mirrors. I; perched on the edge of a dressing table, my legs extending out. And my black high heels. He leaned against something - a wall? his shoulders always leaning towards me as he spoke; laughed. I remember the proximity between us; how the air seemed charged.

It was all about touch. About how the simplest things a guy does can stir your feelings, how the simplest touches can wreak havoc.

My body facing forward from my spot on the table; shoulders directed towards him. He; leaning against the wall beside the dressing table, facing me. Perpendicular almost. We were close. If I extended my hand up from the dressing table, I would be touching his face. No one else was in the room; the door closed. We simply spoke; laughed. Soft eyes. Intimately. Sometimes his hands played with my hair, or drew circles on my skin. My breath hitched lightly.

Our eyes locked. His eyes devilishly playful, he smiled slowly. The small distance between us mocking us. Challenging us. Suddenly we were standing.

I only remember glimpses of the rest.

He stood, towering beside me, facing the side of my body; my eyes swiftly closed. Anticipating. Closer now. I felt his breath on the side of my neck, ghosting up until his lips hovered near my ear. His fingers dragging up against the skin of my arm. His breath was sweet.

He spoke my name in a low rough voice. I looked up silently from beneath my lashes.

Other glimpses of how he leaned towards me as we sat; his lips delicately touching my face, slowly moving upwards.

His body fully pressed against my side, one hand moving up from the nape of my neck and through my hair, another slowly turning my body to face him. He pushed my body against a wall. Our bodies flush with each other, his teeth gently nibbling on my ear. My hands held by one of his above my head.  My lips parted; his making their way down my neck. His hands moving down the sides of my body before roughly grasping my hips. My hands running through his thick, unruly dark brown hair.

In another glimpse I stood, facing the mirrors as he stood behind me, his body pressing against mine. His hands delicately caressing my shoulders; he made eye contact as we locked eyes in the mirror.

His lips diving into the dip of my neck, kissing every inch of my skin, fingers grasping my shoulders.

In another glimpse, his fingers torturously dragged up the side of my body, under his. My head tilted back, my fingers raking up his back. His surprise.

Or when his shirt was hastily unbuttoned, his lips pressing against mine, his torso against mine. My hands roaming against the expanse of his chest, his broad shoulders.



I awoke startled.

The Rant of a Mute

Simply typing, because my head is clogged with thoughts.

I hate those moments in life where your emotions have decided to deactivate themselves, and your life is abruptly overruled by mental clutter. I simply lose my balance; my grip. After all, who works effectively when they simply cannot think? Hence why I’m typing the first words that appear in my mind. No beautiful literature, no poetry. Simply my thoughts. Very infrequently do I get the opportunity to simply spill the contents of my mind, due to my quiet, introverted nature.

It infuriates me sometimes, my inability to be a normal human being. Of course, I understand that no person is perfect – I have common sense. But regardless, it does hurt when you are out of loop. I could blame this on my 4”11 height and geeky appearance, but that would be a lie. It is my personality. An innumerable number of opportunities to converse with others consistently present themselves to me, almost mockingly. Yet, every single time, my mind goes blank and my lips do not speak – as if my words have been stolen from me. And I remain; an observer. Smiling, reacting, watching. Infrequently speaking. It is not emotional or psychological – I don’t exactly have a fear of speaking. I simply don’t know what to say, and how to say it when the opportunities to speak present themselves. Despite having lived sixteen years of life, I do not know how to express myself, my thoughts and most importantly, my words – verbally. Something so basic to the majority of people, I fail to do so.

Today, I arrived at college, my standard time. My best friend was talking to two other girls in our year – both loud, kind, yet sassy people. That’s something I love about black people – that ‘take-no-bullshit I-have-standards’ attitude. I joined them, listening in, not really contributing, but laughing along. People have generally accepted my quiet personality now, so they didn’t react to my presence. But when brief silences between conversations occurred – when slivers of words that I could utter entered my mind, my lips did not open. My mind constantly debating over whether I should comment, whether I should not, whether that irritating strand of hair was about to fall over my face again, whether I was being weird by observing, whether I was smiling and laughing too readily.

Constantly thinking.

I guess that’s my issue – I’m an overthinker.What’s worse it that I presume this trait isn’t exactly dummed down by my gender. You know, with women being typical overthinkers.

I’ve often heard the people debating over how long they could remain silent for. Some claim that they couldn’t not talk to people for even a day – impossible! Some perhaps a little more resilient, claiming they could last a while. But generally, the vast majority of people claim “Oh no, I couldn’t do that. I really don’t understand how some people can.” And sometimes the conversation ends there. Other times, their eyes glance at me, and their thoughts are glaringly obvious. I could. I could stay silent forever. I’m not mute around everyone – in fact, I’m not mute. I do indeed speak, given a task, or class activity. In some classes I’m more verbal, around people that I enjoy talking too. In other classes, surrounded by people with popularity, looks, knowledge, high standards, words fail me. Quite literally. With my best friend, I am actually incredibly extroverted – I constantly tease her about her romantic life, her fear of bugs and love of chemistry. I’m at ease generally. But, introduce another individual – say a jokey loud jovial confident classmate, and I cannot speak. I simply react, laugh, observe. Don’t get me wrong, I do like these people. In fact, I dislike very few people. But I just don’t know what to say. So I simply exist whilst the conversation occurs. I don’t participate. I don’t know how to participate.

I think what really grates on me the most is how I’ve simply disappeared to some. During group conversations, when I am around and someone is speaking, they make eye contact (naturally) with members of the group. However, when I’m not actively participating in the conversation, but reacting in the same way as the other group members, the amount of eye contact made with me is practically non-existent, and I do not know why. Being the over thinker, I do not excessively stare, or act in a judgment inducing way – I simply be normal. Yet, with some, they do not even acknowledge my presence. But ultimately, the scenario that I cannot tolerate, at all is when I do speak, but the person whom I am addressing ignores me, despite my appropriate volume and tone. And what absolutely drives me crazy is when I ask them several times, and they do not respond, abruptly saying something else to my best friend and disregarding what I say. That is something that I absolutely despise. I do deliberate over whether I should respond to this with sass, in an attempt to gain some respect perhaps. I really don’t know.

Things are generally hopeless.