#and then he didnt

That’s a yawning abyss, mocking you with its vacuum. The funny thing about a void is that it has to be filled, it’s something that is the absence, and as such there is something that must be absent for it to exist. It’s a nothing that can only exist because of a something. 

The absence of a will, to make that first move. The first touch, slipping across the void like Indiana Jones, walking on faith and a little know-how. To size that moment up and then seize it, choke the fucking life out of it until it passes, and I’m touching you, and you’re being touched by me. And then that illusion of trepidation has been shattered, and we can avoid that awkward moment when our eyes meet, and one of us looks away before we can flirt. Tease. Enjoy.

I wonder who’s part is the hardest. To be touched or to reach across and touch skin on skin. And as I wonder, I realise that it’s not hard. Fuck hard. Fuck sitting here wallowing in Prufrock waiting for the first move to make itself. Fuck anxiety, fuck tension. Fuck that little voice in the back of your head saying that she might shrink away, might react badly. Fuck indecision. Because that’s not why I’m here, and that’s far from what you want. 

And that’s the moment, where self-effacing anger forces action, and my hand slips across the void, and the abyss is no longer defined by the absence, no longer even exists.