Should my writing ever grow up, I would like to write about Mr. Smith.

I had always thought he was good looking. Handsome, too pedestrian a word to describe him. He was charming, interesting and amiable with a smile so dangerous. I would love to describe his eyes, a pair so deep that you could see your long term goals in them, but I lack the vocabulary. The most attractive thing about him is that he seemed completely unaware of the effect he had on the female race. He walked around like he had no clue that every time he passed by, uteruses cleaned house in readiness to nurture his offspring to full term.

He was the kind of person that made you remind yourself that it was OK to window shop without any intentions of buying anything. You could look through the display glass, admire, maybe even run your hands through the designer merchandise – feeling the texture and taking in the scents but at the end of the day, you would move along. Besides, like White Unicorn he was inaccessible. Somewhat like Beyoncé. Did you know that she rarely bothers to add captions to her Instagram posts? – for that would be downsizing herself to a mere mortal. As always I digress. Mrs. Carter has nothing to do with Mr. Smith.

Then that thing about the universe answering your thoughts happened – the wise call it the law of attraction. I was pleasantly surprised to find that we both got invited to the same event. When I saw him across the room, I made a mental note to speak to him later. I wasn’t quite sure what the subject of our conversation would be, maybe about avoiding aliens and preparing for the apocalypse? The fact the few times he had spoken to me, words of response had refused to form – was not a deterrent.  For Dutch courage and I, the world was our oyster.

As the crowd thinned, and pleasantries with acquaintances had long since been exchanged. He made his way to our corner, a friendly embrace and some small talk. We tried conversation but this was not an easy fit due to the noise from the party makers. Ever so lightly, Mr. Smith held the nape of my neck and leaned in so I could hear him. A gesture so subtle but it sent shock waves through my being. When was the last time that a touch from another scorched you like the sun?  An active volcano, did not hold a candle against what he emitted. He did not try to shout above the buzz, instead a whisper is what he chose – “so what is your favourite drink?”

 Trumpets blowing, drums beating, vuvuzelas cranking, hard metal music playing – could not have been heard any clearer than this whisper. A whisper that caused an awakening of all the five thousand and fifty- five senses.

He was neither loud nor boisterous not in his speech or mannerism. He did not try to be seen, no effort to be heard. No lifting of a finger to assert his presence. The quiet confidence he exuded, comfortable in the simple knowledge that he was enough!

Basking in the moment, fully aware that there was a line that we could not cross. A line that was drawn for reasons we could never fathom. We can approach it and maybe even dabble our toes in the waters. It is however forbidden to plunge in and let ourselves be carried along the current. All one can do, is maybe dream..