Do the Funky Devil
Its lala o’clock and dreams are ticking. Tick-tock. She looked at herself in the mirror and combed her wet hair back with the orange comb. The comb was old school, and it was her grandmother’s. But she often felt that she is keeping her alive by using her things. So she uses her comb, and her sheets. Her room. Everyone told her she looked like her grandmother. So maybe it was through her that her grandma was living a second life.
Or maybe that is what we are. We carry on the lives of the generations that had gone before us. We are actually our grandmothers, our great grandmothers.
She draped the silver belt around her waist and clinched it giving her slender sillhoutte some shape. She pouted to see how her painted lips looked, and then she smiled. Her phone rang and she glided into her black kitten heels, looked at herself one last time and opened the door.
If there was one thing she was addicted to, it was to love. Or falling in love more like. She liked the feeling of anticipation, is he going to call, is he going to talk to me. Is he going to kiss me? She was addicted to the jitters and the buzz, the lightheadedness. How she felt like she was floating.
Then the first date. And the laughter. The jokes, the wittiness. The enchantment
The process of finding out more about the other. And then the nice feeling of liking what you saw. It had been a while since she got to this stage. The liking what she saw. A long while. Her friends greeted her and they walked down the street. It had been a while that they were all at this place together. The search. That’s what they called it. Stepping into a bar, looking around feelers out, eyeing. There must be someone.
Time and again there was none.
So they just drank and laughed and did the funky devil. A dance they all did together at the end of the night when all has been said and done, and love was not found. And at the end of the night she would take her searching heart back to bed, beside him.
The him no one knew about.
The him that was going to take her through until she found the real Him.
But until then she is going to lay hollow hearted, and smile half smiles at him.
Waiting, waiting for the one that would make her feel that buzz, all over again. The one that would make her heart jump to below her throat as her stomach filled with butterflies. The one whom she would blush, and jitter for.
The one who, when he entered would freeze the entire room for her because she would feel him drawing her.
The one she could go through all those dates with, again, and again.
Giggling, waiting for him to say he liked her.
Who knows, maybe lie with him until her heart stopped beating the irregular beats.
And then do the funky devil again.
Like I said, she was addicted to falling.