Anticipation is at the heart of what I do. It comes in stages. Waves of anticipation followed
Anticipation is at the heart of what I do. It comes in stages. Waves of anticipation followed by the catharsis of the actual thing that you’re anticipating. It starts with hoping I might notice you, anticipating that mere flutter of my eyes resting on yours. Then, there’s the deathly anxiety of hoping that it isn’t just a passing interest, that there is the intrigue, and, far more importantly, the confidence, for me to come over and start a conversation. Then you anticipate where that conversation might lead. Then where those first furtive flirtations might progress to. Then we’re there, past that, and first contact is made. Perhaps a hand on your knee, perhaps a finger in your hair. It’s not long then, before you don’t have to anticipate that kiss any more, you don’t have to anticipate the taste of my lips on yours. You just know. But that is you floating down a river of anticipation only to find yourself in an ocean, adrift, with no where to go but further out to sea. Where one earth do we go from here? Where indeed. So much to anticipate, dear girl. So much time to anticipate it in. You never stop anticipating. There’s always something new to explore, something fresh to introduce you to. And I can recreate any of these anticipations, evoke their memories, so that it’s almost as good as the first time. Anticipation is at the heart of what we do, it’s the pulsing beat to which we dance and weave. It’s the not knowing followed by the knowing that’s quite so seductive. -- source link
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