Tuesday, May 25, 2010


by Michael Webb

She doesn't really work with me-our paths occasionally cross, and once in a great while, we will interact. I will always look away from her-light brown eyes, prominent eyebrows, flawless tan skin, a imperfect, thickening body that I find irresistible. She's not fat, not by a long shot-but she is womanly, comfortable, warm. Not thin or ascetic-she probably enjoys eating, while at the same time worrying about her weight. I can't deal with her face to face, but I stare at her, love struck, whenever she is in my view. I say her name under my breath, like an incantation.

I watch her hips twitch when she walks. I notice the way she wears her long, dark hair-sometimes ponytail, sometimes bun, sometimes a sloppy hybrid of the two. I watch her lean against a wall, and interact with men, and text urgently, head down, as she walks. She seems to wear the same tiny, flat sneakers a lot-they have stripes like Adidas, but they are much thinner than actual running shoes. Sometimes she tucks her shirt in, giving her a clean, defined silhouette, and sometimes she doesn't, giving her fewer angles and more curves.

I Googled her name once. She's Turkish, or at least her name is. I don't know what that means, except every time I see a mention of that country now, I think of her. I don't want to hurt her, or even necessarily to touch her. I'm married. She appears to have a boyfriend-I've never spoken to her enough to know anything about her personally. She's so far out of my league we're not even playing the same sport.

I have fantasies about all sorts of women, but, in some strange way, never about her. It would sully her, the dream woman I can never have, to imagine her, to picture her, in the sweaty world of flesh and misunderstanding and obligation and tampons and body odor. I wish I could know her secrets, understand her thoughts, read her mind-but I'm sure that, if I could, I would be shocked at how little I appear in it. For someone I can't talk to, I think about her all the time.

Michael Webb is not quite sure why he can't stop writing for this site. Other ravings can be found at innocentsaccidentshints.blogspot.com. I'm proudest of the fact that I haven't been unfaithful. The fact that I haven't been propositioned should not diminish the gravity of this feat.


  1. Oh, wow. I can't believe I am just seeing this right now. Nice work, Michael -- this type of longing is something I totally understand.

  2. Thanks, man. I think everybody does this. The thing that kills me is that you can't express it without sounding psychotic.