"Do you ever wonder if I'm just a novelty?", she asks through wine stained eyes.
"You don't think that I wonder the same thing about myself?", it's rude to answer a question with a question. "I'm sorry, that was rude, but let's be honest. I could be the same thing, Yet, I'm not going to spend our time worrying about that. When I look into your eyes I don't see a series of clichés, or interests. I don't see someone defined by what they wear, or where they go. When I look into your eyes, or hold your hand, or walk down the street with you, I see.....hope. I see respect. I see interest in what I say, even if it is ridiculously ludicrous. When I am with you, I am with you. Not a novelty."
"You talk too much."
"Isn't that why you like me?"
"That's one part of it", she slinks down in the booth seat, next to me, as if she's hiding from someone. It's no less than adorable. This is new for me, and by all accounts, new for her also. This is the best part. It feel new to me.
I don't miss seeing her body. I miss seeing her. I don't miss dirty words coming from her mouth. I miss any words, from her mouth, that take the time to grace my ears. I don't miss making out with her. I don't miss sex with her. I don't miss the groping, and late night sweating that comes with being in bed with a past woman. I just miss laying there, listening to her breath, and moving her hair away from my mouth so that I don't end up chewing on it in the middle of the night.
At one time I was confusing her shyness with a lack of self confidence. I was wrong. She is a woman. A confident, radiant, independent woman. She is also coy, aloof, guarded, and meaningful. Spending so much time defining people by one quality has made me pretentious. It has made me judgmental. The realization that one faceted people are everywhere is not a new thing. Yet, it does not mean that I have to surround myself with them.
She is not a novelty.
She is a novel.
And as long as she is writing it.
I will continue to read every page.
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