the lost man chronicles
59. in awe of her
I watched a woman write this morning, she excited me. It was not carnal in any way. I just wanted to say to her "I like the crumple of your coat, the colors that you wear, I am curious to what you scribble so passionately there on that scrap of a doctor's note, flowing on to the back of your matching envelope." She was older, at least than me, and "more wise" her wrinkles might unfold. But I could not muster anything so bold as to impart anything. I am ashamed to say that my f e s t e r i n g compliments were fettered by an imaginary parlay, more embarrassing then any fling of complementary expression I wanted to throw her way. And so, at the opening of the train car doors I let her run away with the remnants of desire and appreciation that had fallen from my eyes, hoping that she might later realize how, for a glorious moment—I was in awe of her.
The Majesty of Creation .58 60. the dizziness of awe