I do stalk her. In a low-key, unobtrusive, unintrusive way.
There are a variety of ways in which I do this, following her on social media, where her presence is, at best, sporadic. I imagine (believe) that she knows I do this, that when she surfaces, she’s sending me a little message, even if it’s just “hi.” Maybe I’m wrong. I don’t think so.
I also stalk her physically. My life brings me past her place of employment often. Multiple times a week. I confess, I tend to tarry just a little on her block, to maximize the chances of a chance encounter. They do happen, you know. (In recent weeks, I encountered both Isabel and the Rockette (three times, actually, in the last month) on busy streets. Once, the Rockette was with her assistant, rendering impossible my fantasy of shoving a finger into her cunt on the street while kissing her, pressing her up hard against a building.) Another time, she was lunching with a friend. And a third, getting on a train as I got off.
Back to V. So, I tarry. If I have a few moments to kill before an obligation (and I often do), I’ll stand and read or write on my phone, an eye monitoring the passers-by, in hopes of an encounter.
It never happens.
We’ve left it that I won’t contact her. I’m disruptive to her life. And I have absolutely no desire to disrupt her life.
What I want is to be integrated into it.
Perhaps that’s unrealistic. Or selfish. Or wrong.
But you see, for all the great things I have in my life, V gave me something I’ve never found elsewhere. And I desperately hope, one day, that I’m able to get it back, that she’s able to give it back, in a way that’s consistent with the rest of her life. (See: bucket list.)
Note: Does this post make me like Elizabeth Gilbert? I don’t think so….