Clench your fist Mr. Darcy

Turn around when I walk by. You try to temper yourself. But I'm in your view for too long. It's done. You crumple. Sneak every glance you can.

Pass me by in the door. Choke on your words when I say, "excuse me." Stand with your back turned to hide the fact you're next to me. Sit, where you watch me out of the corner of your eye. Your jaw is clenched and I see you.

Eyes search for their mark for a fraction of time. We brush our glances together as sparingly as possible. Time erupts in the smallest moment into a world of euphoria.The illusion is kept. Outsiders see two completely separate and disconnected lives. But we know. We know each time our glances cross like two plotted lines draw to create that center point, the X that marks the spot. Boom! A hit! A bump. A high courses through me.

Each crash is 1 fps. But maybe, if I take a hit enough times. It will be like I had enough frames to make my own personal movie. One that I take home. And I play it, over, and over, and over again.

No one has ever satisfied their thrist by taking a dropper of water and letting it drip on their tongue, one drop at a time. No. When you're mouth is bone dry, you know what you want. What happens when you see a tall, cold, dripping glass of water?

I've been sneaking drops of water. Because that glass isn't mine and it never will be. It feels good to get a taste. 

But in my movie, I drink the whole glass. I drink it all down. I indulge in the condensation on the glass. I beg for more.

So I ask myself, "How far can I go?"

Don't rouse suspicion, keep the glances minute, never exceed your limit.

But if you can... sneak a drop of water to dull the ache.

And in the mean time, I will live off of your wordless groaning. I will revel in your silent suffering, just like mine.

Clench your fist Mr. Darcy. It's the farthest we can go.