Lately, I've been experiencing something of a crush. Yes, it's true, and just as epileptic, yet anemically pursued as usual.
Last week, the object and I went out together to study a few times. He'd recently suffered a major defeat at the hands of our teaching practice, and I was overcome with the desire to be solicitous in his moment of need. I invited him to join me at my favorite study haunt here in Prague (yes, I have a haunt in Prague), and offered to lend a helpful ear to his process.
We spent a lovely evening together, working on his plan, talking about films and music, negotiating agreements and differences, smiling and laughing, listening with raised eyebrows: All the things you do when you're making a new friend, and finding correspondences with a person you want to like. It's always a great pleasure for me to be of service, and the fact that he is awfully sweet, has a delightful accent, and a brightly attentive way of listening and responding makes it an even greater pleasure.
All the while that I'm sitting there with him, it keeps coming back to me that I'm in Prague, in a smoky cafe, drinking coffee and talking to a lovely creature who wore black robes when he studied at Cambridge University. He's telling me his thoughts and ideas with bright eyes and real sweetness, and I'm feeling lucky and satisfied; loving the opportunity to savor a moment like that.
On the other hand, I'm suffering that epilepsy of desire: admiring him in all of his rather glorious concrete reality, and wanting to stroke and smooth him. He's tall, narrow and a bit pale, with black hair, and he curls up his little finger when he writes. He's got straight, black eyebrows over greenish eyes, holds his cigarette in long, graceful fingers, and rests sharp elbows on the table with beautiful angularity all his own. Every detail of his presence makes explicit the concrete poetry of joints and limbs - that sense of rare and individual beauty that isn't flawless, but is all the dearer for it. Yesterday, he told me that 400 crowns per night to stay on in his current apartment after the course was "a bit dear, really," and it's in that sense that I mean it - something just a bit more than you could comfortably give up.
In one sense, I'm just grateful to be there, drinking coffee and enjoying the perfection of it all; and in another, I'm kind of wanting to consume him, and suffering a bit of disappointment because, seriously, that would be impossible.
Yet another sublime moment from Prague.