"To leave the house of fear..."

There's this guy at a coffee shop that seriously messes with me. I never can tell how I was feeling before I talk with him, or how it relates to the way I feel afterward. All I know is that I've gotta let go of the implications therein, whatever they may be. I've got to deny the call to clumsiness that beckons me in his stoic presence, reflecting everything but me in his eyes--dark eyes, obviously.

(But I was worried, I'll admit it, or rather concerned when I heard tales of a bad bike crash, and knew it could likely have been him...)

And then, I'm not even certain of his name! I think I know it, but I've never asked nor has he offered. He has this air of unapologetic arrogance, that I can neither condone, nor completely ignore, as it seems more steeped in self-deprecation than in conceit. It's like that other bearded boy, erring on the edge of misanthropy--not for a second accepting another's joy or happiness as a thing that ought actually to exist. Go figure.

Faretheewell folk,
-Talthea (4/6/09)