Obsession

It was a torrid affair, you and him, jilted lovers from the past and star-crossed believers in the present. At least that’s what you thought when you glanced at him ever so slightly through the tinted shutters of your tiny house in suburbia. It was not like you could capture the soul of him in that moment he was all but a blurred figure, tall and brawny, a liar and unknowing to it.

You were not the fascination of one’s imagination nor were you the object of one’s desires, in fact you comprehended quite deludedly that you were the pitfall to everyone’s happiness. There were moments you stepped outside to ponder on the material wonders that nature exuded, like the pond in your front yard and how the Lily pads reflected bottle green in the sun. All while tadpoles shrouded behind the sea kelp. And how the Jasmine scented peonies blossomed in the rain yet wilted slightly under the peach infused sunset. The little things brought you joy as did sitting on the rickety old bench by your white picket gate to discreetly people watch.

You mostly looked at him. In the workings of the salt and pepper flakes that danced in his silky tendrilled hair and how droplets of sweat trailed animatedly past the sides of his neck emphasizing exertion from working tirelessly in the yard. The daily activities, the continuum and motivation of your little meaningless life was him. You did not care about the repercussions of your impudent actions, all you knew is of the great lengths you would go to render him yours, to capture him and lock him tightly in your heart, in your arms for eternity.