Taste of Tiramisu
I was waiting for them. Being late is their mantra. So, what do I do to make it pleasant. I order Jasmine Tea and Tiramisu. I love this combination. Once, I read about Tiramisu and how Italian guy invented a dessert to cheer people up. Well, he sure did a great job. What else can cheer us up? A story.
This story begins with her entering the venue. She comes and sits next to me. There is an elegance attached to her movements. She smiles at me and does the unexpected. I see my spoon in her hands. I see my tiramisu in her lips. She eats it without waiting for my approval. Does she know me that good? Is she certain about me not objecting to her in any case?
My spoon is sitting on the plate side. She is done with the tasting. Now it is my turn. I grab the spoon and here is the weird thought that entertains my mind. Am I technically kissing her lips by putting this spoon into my mouth? Will I ever kiss her for real? Thoughts run down my spine as I taste the tiramisu. She continues to give me hard time with her looks. Her eyes are always lit up. I know that I am not the reason. It is the way she is.
Why am I even thinking about her? It is just a business meeting. It was supposed to be. Where is the other participant to come and save me from this desperate moment? Do I really want to be saved? Is this moment rather pleasant to my heart? Am I yielding to the internal desires as Wilde would suggest?
She speaks with grace. I listen carefully not to miss a single word. Then I get periodically distracted when looking at her eyes. Why is it so hard to look at them? What do I see inside of them? There is something so inviting. Her eyes are like the house that you always dreamed about. The kind of house which has that mantelpiece and rocking chair. It has the warmth and serenity. You can live there forever.
You sure know, what happens if one describes another one this much. Feelings become hyper-obsessive and one loses interest to many other things. Suddenly, tiramisu does not cheer you up. You find yourself longing for other meetings. You find yourself at the same venue every evening of the week with only one hope. To see her again. You stare at the entrance thinking she will come and sit next to you. You anticipate that spoon going towards her lips and vanishing in her mouth. You anticipate so much that it hurts.
It hurts to hear nothing from her. But then there is a thing called a job. Somebody got to do it right? Regardless of the things you carry inside you have to work. And if you are lucky enough, in one of those countless nights you will get to have a normal, peaceful sleep.