True Love

 STARBUCKS, PAIN D'AVIGNON, BLONDE BEAST

Love is such a problem.  How can I live for love when I can't control it?  Unless I take the universal, spiritual approach of loving rather than being loved.  It is much easier and more accessible to love than it is to be loved.  I don't need your permission to love you, I just need to do it.  However, I have to do or be or say something to earn or win your love.  I have to work hard to draw feelings of affection and attachment from you.  Feelings that are so hard won and so soon lost to time and changing circumstances.  How can I make you love me?  How can I get your attention?  I have to get you to notice me first, and then I have to be or do something that will delight you and make you want to know and be and communicate with me.

Looks are an important part of it.  Not the most important part, but it all begins with what catches the eye.  Someone catches my eye and I hope to make contact.  I want to meet him.  I want to find an excuse to talk to him—any stupid, little reason to talk to him.  "You dropped your Starbucks card."  "Could you pass the half-and half?"  Sometimes just making that momentary contact is enough.  Sometimes it has to be, because he doesn't want any more to do with me than that.  Which is fine.  I learned long ago that one of life's greatest pleasures, one of its graces, is to leave other people alone.  But, how many times have I seen a guy that I wanted to get to know?  Usually an excruciatingly handsome and attractive guy.  And I know nothing about him.  Nothing.  Only that he catches my eye.  And I'm so proud of myself for not trying to glom onto him.  I'm so proud that I didn't make a fool of myself by presuming to greet him or make conversation with him.  I'm not a stalker, and I proved it!  I'm so proud.

There was a handsome, trim, blonde tradesman I used to see at Starbucks.  He had a habit of turning his ankle while waiting for his coffee, an unconscious gesture carried over from childhood.  I saw him almost daily.  He was one of the best parts of my day.  Never in a million years would I ever have a reason to talk to this guy, nor would I go out of my way to find one.  It was enough just to see him, waiting for his coffee and turning his ankle.  And then I didn't see him.  I started going to Pain D'Avignon for morning coffee, and on my less frequent visits to Starbucks I didn't see my handsome friend.  I missed him.  I wondered if he was going somewhere else for coffee.  The tradesmen tend to go somewhere convenient to their current job.  One sees the same people day after day for months at Starbucks, and then the job changes and they're gone.

One recent morning at Pain D'Avignon, I saw the familiar build and coloring of my blonde beast out of the corner of my eye.  I wasn't sure until I saw him turn his ankle while he waited for his coffee.  O damn, it was him.  And there we were thrown together again.  Did he recognize me?  I doubt it.  But, I was happy to see him.