Touching Her

She smiled at me, she winked, she laughed…but I couldn't touch her. She was right in front of me but I could not adjust her long, dark hair, tilt her oval chin or trace a playful line down a side of her glowing face. She wanted me to hold her, I saw it in her eyes yet I didn't.

We talked for several short hours throughout that day on life, love, politics and the future. We made and played beautiful music and told tales of the nostalgic past.

I looked away again, made no attempt to hide my false interest in the surrounding scenery because I’d somehow noticed how her smile got brighter when she thought I wasn't paying  attention. I totally deceived her. She thought I was staring at other things…but I was only trying to get a better view. All of my optical focus was directed to peripheral vision so I could ‘scope’ her face, optimally. No harm in that tiny bit of dishonesty, eh?

It was wonderful, being with a woman who understood me. I was filled to bursting with a strong soothing sense of peace and balance. Work and hustle, fights and tussles would inevitably resume the next day, but that moment, that night, all I wanted was to reach out, take her hand and savour the feel of her warm skin against mine as I fell asleep.

But then she stopped smiling, because I got cocky and told her about my little observation. She held her face stoically,summoned that impressive self-will I admired, and I knew I was in trouble .Nothing more that I said, however funny, sarcastic or satirical elicited a change in her facial expression. I contemplated capitulation but my pride disagreed. I refused to humbly retract my statement, therefore our petty mind-game continued. I bet I could have ‘won’ easily if I’d played dirty by subtly reminding her of my feelings for,  and perception of her.

She admonished me to give up but I cheerfully retorted with references to gallant heroes of history and lore, and some very current and contemporary, thieving villains. I opined that if even the vile and contemptible were dedicated, how could I do less?
Needless to say, I lost that contest. She didn’t budge even when I attempted way to obscure and obfuscate her sterling victory, by suggesting that I had a bigger plot in place which she’d been unwittingly subject to.

Perhaps it was compensation for my ‘loss’, but when I finally said farewell, she bid me come closer, and plastered a swift, crimson seal on my lips.
OR, that’s what would have happened, if only I could have touched her.
I smiled at the IM audible she sent, and signed out. My webcam’s blue light, fizzled out and yielded to the darkness.