All those fashionistas out there, you must be familiar with the holy grail of louboutins, the Cult must have shoes for every celebrity, starlet, and high flying or high maintenance women. Yes, the red soled, hand stitched, highly prized possessions, even the replica cost is enough to put a deep dent in any decent pocket. And all those who don’t have a clue what I am talking about……..Go Google them.
I hereby humbly declare that I own a Pair, and I wore them Once, on a cold, wet, windy, west London night. Since then I have kept them safely packed in their red velvet pouches, hidden secretly in the bottom drawer of my cupboard. But I know and I am well aware of their presence, I take them out every now and again, and feel the softness of their leather, the sharpness of the heel, the way they enhance the arch of my foot, gloving them in a perfect fashion and make my legs look endless (Here is the overstatement, but yes my legs do look a bit Longish in them) and then I put them back, get busy with the daily grind and forget that the black beauties with red soles might be longing for my touch.
I am sure one day, when I’ll be all old and wrinkly, and alone, I would like to take them out, hold them close, stroke them more, and they would remind me of a time, a time when I was not so young, but young enough to wear sky high peep toes and walk, and somehow managed to dance wearing them.
That was for the love of Louboutins, and now I may start for the Louboutin of LOVE, someone who is the epitome of desire, the one having the same celebrity status in my heart as the Louboutins on any red carpet or runway. And yes, I am not the only one having a thing or two for him, neither I am the lucky or chosen one to just have them/him at my very own disposal. I like that guy, like him a lot, so much so that I stopped myself from falling in love with him. He is the perfect species of tormented, tortured, troubled soul, I look for desperately. I get so attracted to the commitment phobic, dysfunctional, emotional unavailability to the over grown man children who have screwed up history of being with every women, right, left and center. The titillation is so tantalizingly agonizing, and the attraction so brutally fatal, they are hard to resist…..the result, I fall, Head over high heels, with the idea of being in love with them. Actually it is the idea of being in love with someone unavailable and unachievable that drives me nuts. I want them, and when I want someone, Boy, I wanna get them, by hook or by crook. And the minute I know I have them, phew, the magic is over, the thrill is gone, and the Love?? What love??
This time I stopped myself, from destroying the last bit of sanity that I have and a good relationship that I’ve built, or want to build with him. Like my Black heels, I had him once, on a wet, windy stormy night in another capital city, both of them affected me the same way, and left my aging hips achingly crackling, and my calves cramping.
The memory is so profound I dare not to think about it, fearing that it will disappear from the hard drive of my brain. I wish I had a ctrl S function installed. But no one controls “S”. Born in the same year, we never lived in the same city, and now don’t even share a country or a continent. I like to call him my MUSE, this word has a certain je ne sais qoi to it, and so does he. You have no idea how badly I want to hold and squeeze him tightly, deep in my thoughts and thighs. I am very well aware of the fact, that our paths might never cross, and no parts of our bodies are ever going to end up inside or around One another……….(well…… not for now, I suppose)
But I decided to rise above the temptation, for the first time in my life, I have made an effort to stop.
Stop suffocating some free bird with my obsession of taking care, to fill in the deep void in my own empty self or perhaps to quench the longing of being taken care of but being shit scared to let anyone do that. Holding back on being a crazy psycho bitch texting 40 times per minute to ask about trivial things, doesn’t matter if to forbid my hands I have to clench my fists tightly, so tightly my finger nails dig deep in my palms and leave marks and it hurts, but these go away after a couple of minutes, I know if I will hold on to him, the marks I will have on my soul will take an eternity to fade away…..and it sure as hell will HURT…..Big Time!!
I keep his memories carefully wrapped and protected in the lingerie drawer of my dreams, And one day when I will be all Old and wrinkly, I will fondly recall this time, a time when I wasn’t at my wisest, but was wise enough to cut off, freeze, stand still. I will like to take him out of the hidden recesses of my gray matter, and sit with his illusion, smugly silent, savoring the pleasure of making the right decision at the right time and letting him GO, after kissing him Good Bye………………………
Realizing the cold hard fact just in time, that how useless it is to want and long for things…..because things and people who want you to be theirs, will one day come to you and tap on your shoulder……and if you are lucky enough, you might recognize them…and feel Ready……………to commit, confirm and taken care of.
7th June, 2013.