Obsession.

Randomly I had picked out a man from the bakery the other morning.

He was a nobody, wasn't he?

Not very tall, a bit round here and there, deep eyes, blonde, curled hair. How original. Dark eyes and light, fluffed angel-hair. He spoke with his unsteady accent. Where was his accent from? I was trying to get myself captivated, lost, drowned, drenched in him.
Seems it was harder than I thought. Why wouldn't love come by force? Why wouldn't those emotions sparkle and shine and glow and.. And glisten? Why wouldn't they? Why wouldn't I be able to sense his presence, or think about him for hours, why wouldn't I lay awake? Why not?

Because love can not be achieved by force? What kind of bullshit is that?
Of course it can! All that would be needed was for him to fall in love me. And I would make him do. I would. I would make him love me, that way I could just give more than I would take, all the way. Try to be resourceful and fascinating, I wouldn't tire him out, wouldn't let him go.

Then suddenly behave like a witch, be rude, short, take him for granted. Make him want me, need me. Oh yes.
All I would need was a perfect place in which I could trap him. But where? The bakery, was it too obvious? Hm, I tried. I tried the bakery, went several times, stalked it. Parked my car outside it and watched for nearly an hour.
nothing.

So I had to make another plan. I hadn't seen him for two days, he could be anyone from anywhere and I wouldn't know. I might never see him again. I had to make a plan. But how could I do that if I didn't even know where he was? How? How would I be able to see him again?

I walked around the area around my house, looking like a dump obviously, no need to put my face on before I had him cornered. It was exactly what I shouldn't have been thinking, because as I was in the middle of another plan I barged right into him. His eyes were calm, warm and caring. His unsteady accent retorting millions of apologies. The hood of my raincoat had slipped back, revealing a face that hand't seen concealer or mascara for three days.

My heart skipped at least five beats.

Shit.

But he seemed completely unaffected by the dark bags under my eyes, the spots a screaming red, the uncoloured lashes or my dry, chapped lips. Even the face he was looking upon that was now flourishing with embarassment he looked upon with admiring eyes. These deep, dark, sexy eyes.

Love by force. How ridiculous.

//Angela