Hopeless...

I'm waiting on some media for my next few posts, about my trips to see the most amazing Tango music, the street musicians on Avenida Florida and Defensa Street and Colonia, Uruguay. This is just something I wrote in my head walking home from a concert in Luna Park on Thursday (yes, I haven't seen the internet for three days. Amazing, no?):

Hopeless.

In the evenings, walking down the street with her, I found that I drift in and out of reality, our conversations only taking up a thin film of my conscious thought. The rest of me only dreams of holding her…

…Standing on the antiquated sidewalks under the once gas-lit lamps, surrounded by the old facades of European architecture and a fine, coiling mist. Her arms wrapped around me underneath my coat, her face buried into my scarf, my cap tipped back on my head as my own face is enveloped by her hair - shining bright copper in the lamplight, my cold glasses slightly fogging as my breath is reflected upwards.

That’s it, that’s all I can think about. No careful plots or intrigue, no schemata for building a closer friendship that has so often been my course in these matters. I can’t think when I’m around her, let alone try to impress her or hold an intelligent conversation; all that comes to mind is the scene above…

It’s been long enough since I’ve felt trapped and hopeless like this, so long that I’ve forgotten how miserable this sort of existence is, and how much I love it all the same.