owlsyndrome:

Her mystique is quite alluring. She sits there, book in hand while sipping on a cup of coffe. Glancing up between pages, taking in the ambience of her surrounding. Eyes closed thinking and reflecting about the words she just read- understanding. It could be any day of the week; somehow, some way on weekend nights you could probably find her in a cafe reading. The glitz and glam of the night scene doesn’t mean a whole lot of anything. She finds adventure, pleasure and all things exciting within the confines of her book. An intellectual soul, she feels more at home in binding than any party. It is her comfort food, taking a taste in each metaphor, verse or line- her insatiable thirst for knowledge can be frightening.

But look into her eyes,and see what I see. Her lonely adventures in the pages of her pleasure are seen quite clearly as a sense of longing. Companionship in her endeavor is found tiring. No person, woman or man, has stepped up to the quest, challenge, or opportunity to see what she sees. A different world, a different reality, she reads on alone reluctantly. No commitment to a man, no responsibilities to her family, no reason to check her phone; she strives for a partner, a talker, a smart one, some personality that looks in between both worlds, of reality and dreams, where truth meets fiction, where battles of thoughts and words converge on a seige of opinion and listless eloquence of delivery. Her books are a front, she’s searching for something, no, someone who could keep up with her- easily.

Behind the facade of fashion, underneath the glance of a controlled nymphomaniac, she finds herself constantly waiting. When will there ever be someone she can find, a criteria of everything she dreams of him to be. Those guys seem to be rarer than gemstones, diamonds or emeralds, especially when all men seem to be all looks and no depth. The conversation ends and the point of listening in attentiveness is dead, yea the men in her books just seem more worthwhile.

Until she finds one.

I’d say hello to the pretty face of this book fiend and keep her on her toes when I work up the courage to go up to her and speak. But once the conversation is rolling and the words are flowing, the big question is… can she keep up with me?

Never gets old.