Forgotten skills

Late in the evening, as the raindrops spread in the air leaving it wet and heavy, under the supervision of invisible, dark wind, I am heading to the tram station, and the moment resembles me of the afternoon a month ago, early, warm September, when I arrived. It is the sound of my boots, echoed from the modern-art roofing above the walkway and the presence of no people that helps to remind me of the day, of my feelings, of my expectations. The raindrops evaporate into the air, as if they never existed: the morning paper never mentions yesterdays weather, and only the wet concrete squares retain the memory of it. Similar to the most of my every-day encounters, meaningless thoughts, big ideas never passing the point of realization, like hunger or coffee cravings, they are all like the raindrops of this October's Sunday.

My life last month felt different, and now it seems a long time ago. Even under the comfort of his bare arms, playing chess, him feeding my mouth with gummy bears, and talking about his conversation with older brother about me, even so much security he has offered to me does not prevent me from thinking about fear of him walking away. I keep thinking about retaining attractive and interesting to him, about being funny and happy, smiling with my eyes – the reason of his adoration, and even thou it would not be a problem for me otherwise, I find myself worrying: what if I am not happy and funny, pretty and witty, good cook with adorable French pronunciation. What if my imagination when faire de l’amour runs out, and what if other what ifs happen?

And what if I am too worried about falling in love? Have I forgotten how? As the latest reminder of me.in.love might have actually been just a shock from a refusal, I am not sure how to let myself in.