This is Not My Journey

Two people sit over a cup of coffee, and try to enjoy each other's company. I am one, I am gay. And I feel the musky presence of another male around me appealing. I enjoy it, breathing it in, feeling him in my veins as his scent travels within my body. I'm starting to enjoy it.

Half-way through, the waiter comes with the order. The fare is laid out on the table. My companion stubs his cigarette into the ashtray and looks at me, realizing I have been watching him as a glimmer of astonishment strikes his face and disappears. He looks into my eyes as to greet me again, and to say he is back from his musings or wherever he has been while I have been watching him all this time. He smiles embarrassed, and then turns to food.

We dine quietly. We don't talk. There is nothing much we have in common.

Then there is an effort for communication, and I forget now who tries to break the silence first. We travel around the world, and different worlds... he takes me on a long journey of words... I follow him, intent on accompanying him on his treasure hunt as he turns every other rock on the way... showing me things which he thinks I need to see. I hold my breath, afraid to miss some word and drop out of his world. I watch him as the contours of his face change a million times, while he animatedly explains things to me- subtle sciences, philosophy, religion...
-x-

The plates are finished now. And he is quiet as he takes out notes from his wallet to hand out to the steward. I find myself suddenly jolted out of his world; it has been a tiring journey. My neck aches. And my body longs to get out of the place. I look around for refuge; a guy at the other table is having his dinner quietly... I inspect his facial features... so poetic, so intensely handsome...

This has not been my day. This has not been my journey.