Strawberry Parfait

I have this odd penchant for whipped cream. Perhaps because of its simplistic feel to my tongue, that it tangs the whole experience if assorted with flavouring. Heavenly, that is what it is. Maybe it’s the same simplistic facet to it that I just find so palatable. That when ever it blends with flavouring, even the pungent ones, it would not ruin the taste. Instead, it is tempered.

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Let me introduce another character to my stories, I would name him *Artiste. Fundamentally cause he is an artist, and I see him as one. I shall not dispense any more personal information as it terribly frightens my puny self-preserving heart. Somebody might ascertain his identity and tell on me; I simply cannot risk that.

Artiste pmed me today. He gave me a link to one of his works. It surprises me every time I see his red blinking nick on my pm box cause he rarely chats me up, and I cant deduce what is with him when he does. He is awfully arcane all the time. And I find it insanely attractive of him. The way he steers every little thing to his own accord. But it also infuriates me tremendously, how he just flagrantly always get his way with me. I badly dislike being taken advantaged of, but if he is the one to do it, he gets away with it leaving me in utter disarray emotionally but fascinated. And I chastise myself always for that.

This time, I felt both surprised and bothered. But all the same, my then listless heart clocked up to a 120 pulse rate per minute. I wonder how he does that to me. Compelling me to subdue my irate moods and intrigue me incessantly, yet making me want to reach out to the monitor and wish my quavering little hands would somehow get through that and breach his end all the way to his esophagus.

I liked his work. It was a bit bland though, but I liked it more with the knowledge that it was his. I wonder though, what his inspiration is, or who. Since he denies having one, which I was quick to counter. No person could ever generate any beauty especially with the use of his imagination without something dash someone to enthuse him. It would be an impossibility. For the heart and mind would not produce beauty if they don’t feel and have not experienced it. If the heart feels something wonderful it would want to seep it out. And if the mind finds something just as astonishing, it would let the beautiful memory stay there for the artist to utilize in his masterworks. After all, mostly, it is the beautiful things that the mind keeps, right? Thus, the artist dash person would want to convey that beauty outside himself; immortalizing the beauty that he felt and knew. And from there, it would all be cyclical.

I had not the bravado to adulate his work, because I knew that was what he was after. I needed him to be annoyed with me, because I wanted to know what he’d do. The things he’d say. If I’d ever make him angry. Because he doesn’t seem to want to get angry with me. It only makes me think, that he might still feel a scant of fondness for me. I absolutely don’t want that.

I suppose it is the thought that I can never have him, and he can never have me because I will never let him, that I find so appealing.

That same premise might also be reason why I allow him to wound me, cause I am guilty of doing that to him. Perhaps, if I had let him break me, I would not be so pacifying. Then, I wont feel so at fault. But the thing is, whether I wanted him to do that or not, he still wouldn’t. Cause he cant. He wont be able to. He is an already pungent flavour that needs not me to exacerbate the helping. If it were food, you would not like yours to be too sweet or too salty, would you? You’d want it to taste just right. Because, overtime, even if you liked it at first, your taste buds would eventually learn to averse the familiar binge of flavour. Because it would just simply be, “too good”.

That is why I would rather fancy a whipped cream. Cause I, myself, is a pungent flavour that needs to be tempered.

- - -

Best ever compliment I got from a Friend;
`You should write a book, I’ll buy it. *laughs*

--oOo--