Refusing Eye Contact

You catch a glimpse from across the room. You can tell he's looking at you out the corner of his eye. You look away.

He, however does not. He keeps his eyes firmly planted on every aspect of you. He watches the way your body moves, listens to the tone of your voice and revels in your fruitless attempts of laughter.

Soon, he will have you.

You will be him.

You will be one.

There will be no distinction between where he begins and where you end.

You're hoping for a courtship, but he thinks it's a waste of time. You want to get caught up with things and people before you get lost in him, but the time he allows is less than mediocre.

He inches closer and you can almost feel his hot melancholy breath on your neck, so you take a step away. With ever step closer you take one more step back and before you know it you're dancing in glorious circles as far from each other as he'll allow.

Your lover tries to break in, asking for just one dance, but you know it's impossible. Instead of answering you begin to run until you are as far from everyone and anything as you can be, or thought you could be.

Laughing, he arrives right beside you. "It is time," he whispers. The words are long and spoken with such finesse as if he is actually trying to comfort you. As if lying in his arms could ever be considered comforting.

You look away in disgust refusing to make even the slightest amount of eye contact. Because the truth is, you're finally being drawn in. You're finally letting go and only moments away from falling into his embrace.

You fight the urge. Plaster a smile on your face for all the unknowing passersby. They shall not see you falter. They can not witness your downfall. They may only be privy to the last ounces of hope you keep forcing to the surface of your soul.

But who are we kidding. All this effort ... it hurts. It burns. It aches and it stings, your heart slowly melting into his hands.

And alas he wins. Just as he predicted, just as you feared, he has you. All of you. He has you and has threatened to never let you go. And after all the fighting and clawing your way away just to remain alone, you no longer have any fight left.

Tired and hopeless, you crumble into his embrace and his world becomes your own.

You are officially his.

This is not a love story.

He is not a man.

He is not even a human.

He is ... and forever will be ... the relentless unforgiving ghost of depression. So easy to give into, and the hardest thing you'll ever have to fight in your life.

Keep fighting my loves. And so shall I!

Well as for right now, I'm just going to keep refusing to make eye contact ... see how long I can keep that part of the game going.