I was recently reminded of how cold I come across. I wasn’t hurt, or shocked or even annoyed. All I felt was that first hint of desperation, like no! Please see me, really, look at me, I’m far from cold.
I want to be cold sometimes, as aloof as I come across. I also want to be all warm and cuddly. So the universe decided to be funny. Her warped sense of humor made me both. Outwardly, cool as a cucumber. Inwardly, conflicted, swinging like a pendulum. Cold one minute, hot the next.
Oh who am I kidding? It’s you, dear diary, you wouldn’t judge me, you get me. Why do I feel the need to lie to you? Guess I’m not proud of this one. I’m cold. I’m aloof. I’m not warm and cuddly. And no, I don’t hate it.
But every now and then, I meet someone. And when I think about the person, I feel all warm inside. When I’m with the person, I feel like holding hands and watching them smile. I want to see the smile spread to their eyes and know I helped it get there. I want to talk about stuff just for the hell of it, not because they can fix my woes.I ask about their day because I’m interested, not because it’s expected.
Those brief times, I hate how detached I am. I hate how I can’t just casually reach out and touch their face just because I want to. I hate how I want to say something mushy and I ruin it because I end up making it sound like science. I hate how I small it makes me feel, how I wish they would see me, the stupid desperation that creeps in and makes me want to force myself to follow through with what I really want to do and then wind up tainting my actions with that unmistakable vibe of all things forced.
That’s the biggest curse of the likes of me, the walking victims of the universe’s cruel joke. First you search for one that takes away your cold and warms you from the inside. Knowing that all you exude is this cold draft that alternates briefly with a fleeting flame. Then you hope to God that they stick around long enough to see you, really see you. Not as you are with everyone, but as you are with them.


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