Blank Screen

She was sitting at the keyboard, yet again, staring at the cursor blinking. She had so much to say yet she could find no where to start. She closed her eyes and sighed as images flashed vividly behind her closed lids. Yes, there was much to be externalized, and not enough hours in the day to get it all out on paper.

Her insecurities bubbled to the surface everytime she started the sentence. She couldn't quite figure out where to start. The past few months had been a blur and she couldn't quite focus her energy where she needed it. She kept skipping around in her mind and the screen remained blank. Did she start with the first impression? Did she start with their first conversation? Did she start with reaching a point where he was the last thing on her mind at night and the first thing to cross her mind in the morning?

He made her completely comfortable and yet completely uncomfortable with herself. She was in a new league, more like in over her head, and she was confused. It was so easy to talk to him. Typically she looked away from people who looked her straight in the eye, played the part of I'm looking at you too, without ever actually having to do so. However, she couldn't quit looking him in the eye. It made her uncomfortable, sent to flight the butterflies, and yet, it felt like home. He could often ask her anything and she would answer without hestiation. He felt she held back, but comparatively, she let him know far more than he would ever realize.

She tried not to watch him, but something about him always made her hyperaware of where he was. It disturbed her, and she tried to distract herself when he was around so she wouldn't notice the small things, but it never helped. Almost like a presense, his was somehow tied to hers. She could almost feel him enter a room,  before seeing him, which was beyond uncomfortable for her.

They had remained on either side of the table, never too close, never too far, but always refraining from crossing each others space. At first, she thought he was irritated by her in general. Yet, the more time they spent around each other, the easier it became to push the boundary. She knew once the line was crossed it would be hell to draw it again.

She chewed on her bottom lip and tapped the pencil in her hand. As she stared at he screen comtemplating what to type, the tap - tap - tap of the pencil helped her to concentrate on where to begin. Should she type the reality which was boring and dull and full of electricity? Or, should she type her dreams, her fantasies, which were full of excitement, full of lust, full of secret meetings, and sideways stares and just as charged with electricity? She was so lost in thought, she hadn't heard the door open or even close again. It was not until the warm furry body rubbed against her ankle dangling from the chair that she jumped out of her seat and almost out of her body, that she realized how lost she had been in the images and possibiliy of him.

She reached down, picked up Rum, and set him in her lap while she stared forward at the screen. She continued to watch the cursor blink as she scratched Rum absently behind the ears. She pet him down the full length of his body, then picked him up from her lap and set him down on the floor. She continued to rub him with her foot while mindlessly tapping with the pencil.

Her fantasies flashed before her eyes. He had her on the desk and was kissing her slowly. His hands on her face, in her hair, and down her back. He would pull her close, then lean her back to stare at her a moment before kissing her lips again. In another, he had walked in behind her and suddenly she felt his body behind hers, his lips at her ear, and his arms encircling her. The images sent a rush of heat through her body and crimson to her cheeks. Her skin was tingling and the butterflies had taken to flight in her stomach again. She marveled at how just imagining him could have such an effect on her. She pondered what it would be like to actually cross that line, to have him hold her in his arms,  to feel his lips on hers, to feel his full body next to hers, what effect would that have on her. She wondered would she ever be free of the images once the line was crossed.

Again she stared at the blank screen before her. She knew she had work to complete, but the block was so etched, she couldn't break through. She picked up her phone, her keys, grabbed a light jacket, gave Rum another quick scratch, and left the apartment for a walk to clear her head. Maybe the fresh night air would allow her a break from the images that refused to leave her mind and continued to consume her thoughts.