Posted on December 11, 2018
There’s a dog wagging his tail, a couple kissing on the side of the street. It’s all the romance of the Earth twirling around us like the music on her spinning dress. They are there at the cafe, getting coffee discussing their former mates. They have wide smiles and wine filled stomachs for they love to laugh a little too loud in the dinner candle lights.
All the love in the world, but somehow we are just magical observers who gets a glimpse of the lady he’s pulling himself into. We look in the mirror at ourselves and wonder, “Who is that? How have we changed into this person?”
The reflection erodes our understanding of self and our egos are enlightened to the uncomfortable revelation of reality, we are not the center stage performer as we once were. There was a time of our moment in the spotlight but that time has come and may never come again, or at least it feels that way. Sticking to our way to big book, we can see the eyes gleam at us while we eat a sushi dinner for one.
They were mocking the scene across the bar, and the woman couldn’t resist to ask the question, “What book is that?” Turning around to pleasant eyes radiating behind circular glasses, it wasn’t a mistake. The thought that the couple had been staring this way for the past 15 minutes had been confirmed with one question.
“Lord of The Rings,” a voice answers, and somehow the next thing a person knows is they find themselves joining a meal for two as their plus one. Becoming a now third element to the type of couple family members pressure over wedding cocktails, “so when are you two planning the engagement?”
But there was no reason to disengage as she started to describe,
“In France, people start dating from the moment they go out. Right on the first date, that’s it, you are my boyfriend.” She looked at her man and smiled.
Now being in no rush to leave, we discover they’ve been dating for one and a half years and just moved in together.
In no rush themselves, she works here in Israel at a big time company dealing with blockchain of some AI program and he, being from Rhode Island, happened to find himself working as an employee for Fiverr and mainly as her man. A sweet, simple, yet modern couple. They couldn’t help but mingle with the meal words signifying a modified management of monogamy.
There was an impressive chord struck when she claimed she wants the kids to be raised by him while she climbs the corporate cubicle. France, apparently, spiced itself with the same spunky feminism of the west, and there’s a moment where we listen to the fresh take on old told notion.
With the sight of their seamlessly solid twosome, we ask ourselves the subtle question, “Is this the new way for our future?”
Pondering the rules to the generation’s new game, we conclude, “Whatever the rules, will we be able to stick by them?”
Walking away with more questions than answers we think, “Who are we? And as a person, how do we view relationships?”
The time has come to try and answer these questions.
Friends tell us it’s time we go out and date, that we should step up to the plate.
But what are we trying to swing at? How was the pitch for a relationship up at bat? Will it even be a home-run across the globe?
More importantly, “Will these beliefs get us a definite travel ticket to the City of Love?”
PLEASE!!** Share your thoughts 🙂 That’s how we all learn and grow, Thank you!
Posted on December 4, 2018
Because she is different, adventurous, spontaneous, completely illogical. She has the perfect amount of curves he’s called to, a captivating charisma, a confidence of core character. He thinks she’s a beauty both on a basic biological basis and in brilliance of a bold brain. Her arch in her back sends him wild to the sky, sending messages overseas in a bottle of opened vulnerabilities. He thinks of her as a princess, depicted in his mind as an ideal that can’t be shaken and scratches his head as he shakes off the slumper with another night dreamt of sleeping beauty. What a goddess in his eyes, a pinnacle of potential perfection. She was a light on to him, and he contrasted her glow. What was he to her? The shadow underneath, the repulsive underbelly of way to many nights cramming codes on keyboards. He wasn’t at her level, she was just too pure to be his. So he held out his hand and dramatically took it back, “I guess I’ll just go.” And on he went without her, mopping and trying to man-up, but he was a mess. Mortified to the merical of a possibility, “Could it have been us?” He types her a message in pain of a reply. Why does she barely reply?
Because he’s like a reflection, one with the shine of an extroverted magician, that can spark her fantasies of romantic affairs. He is the exact fit to her storybook ending, a man of charm, a lover of her world. She believes he is stable, even with his unpredictable consistency, he manages himself. She writes letters to him daily she never intends to send. A ritual act that builds up her love of his lips, a lust of the lingering link between them. She wonders about him as she wakes up in the morning, as she goes to sleep at night, and all throughout her walking days. He seems so far away from her now, halfway across the world. Many time zones away, she was ahead of his lifetime and she wonders if she’s ran too far astray. Was she ahead of him? Did she move too quick to capture his concentration? “Was she just too above him?” she’ll wonder as she writes these words on journals she’ll share to the world but will not dare for him to see. “I suppose I could reach out now,” she will say as she sends the first email, a response 4 months overdue. The hurt of her heart hangs hopeful at the positive reaction, but why does she resist to reply?
Because his actions are off and the mood of time’s discordant records of behavior calls for him to not know what he wants. Is it her, or is it just,
He likes himself…
Because he has the ability to choose what he wants and where to go, what to do. His freedom is first and frankly that is his choice. He admires his extreme lifestyle and is a diehard addict to a businessman’s pace. He replies back to her for himself. He loved her, he remembers as he trips over memory’s lane.
He likes her, but she likes him, and he likes himself.
But maybe he also likes her?
Because she likes herself.
But him, the him that only likes her, never really likes himself.
So she can never really like him.