More than likely....

More than likely...

I will stand your presence. But it doesn't mean your hand won't miss being in mine.
More than likely...
I will keep comments to myself. But know that I will always want to know what you meant.
More than likely...
I will look at you when you talk with me. But I will fight with restraint from having my soul be revealed by your eyes.
More than likely...
I will be present in the moments that we find ourselves together. But know that those moments I always want to continue without hesitation.
More than likely...
I will be respectful and genuine. But when asked, at any time in my life, I will never deny the connection I feel.

I turn away and laugh and (nervously) smile

Recently someone asked me why I don't talk about myself (what I've seen/accomplished/done, etc) with others. I took a second, hesitation was clearly on my face and responded with "because those are my experiences" and then added some rather convincing blabber about people and attention spans and quickly got the subject changed....

I exhaled, put the matter on a shelf and went on with life. Until this morning.

I was busily searching through past pictures on my various drives (vacations/sights/off road snapshots etc) and felt a pang in my side. It wasn't the traveling bug that I have been suffering from as of late. This was something else.

The best way to describe it: wanting to share but knowing that once it's out there it can't go back. Nothing's hidden when you share it. Just like when you shared a note about that person you had your eye on before the dance in middle school and hoping that they would feel the same way about you.

I've put fear aside and shared a note recently. I hope that my ridiculous blabber can distract from the nerves that really want to shine through.

Instead the pang on my side reminds me it's there...

Napkin Diaries - Chapter 3 The far off glance

Today like most days the sun was beating in through the windows of the shop. I never really tended to them, I always had the customers do what they want with them. Usually like most days, I made sure that the blinds of the window closest to her seat were partially drawn so she could stare off down the city walk watching the cars and people intertwine during their morning routines. She comes in, casually dressed; jeans, some sort of heeled boot and a colorful scarf that always seemed to grab my attention no matter how busy I was behind the bar.

When she comes in you could see the friendly expression on her face. Her smile made her eyes twinkle and she pushed her hair behind her ear when she was about to order. It was cute and it drove me crazy. She'd wait in line casually scanning the shop, never really examining who was there or what was going on, but in her own way she knew exactly who was there sharing the same space with her. She was observant and friendly but shy. The hundreds of times she made it to the counter to order I would try to attempt anything to start talking with her. Mostly to my own shyness I would just settle on talking about the day's weather. She was always obliging to engage me but man, I wanted to reach out and tuck that piece of hair behind her ear just once. She's adorable. She'd pay me and then shift down the counter and occasionally I would steal glances at her. She'd be biting her lip or scanning something on her phone which made her secretly smile. I would believe that I was the only one who was catching those private moments. No one else saw them. No one else was watching us.

"On your left," I hear from Sasha a local college freshman who has been working here for over a year. "Heading to the fridge." I turn around to my left and slam my left knee into the fridge door. I hate these mini half size fridges. This below the counter stuff is dangerous.

Bending down to rub it, Sasha whispers over to me, "Did you try to talk with her today, Will? I mean anything at all?" She's shoving cream, 2% and whipped cream cans into the fridge and meets my gaze of pain.

"Well....no. Not today." My voice trailed off and I stood up and let out a long sigh as I saw her sit facing into the sun at her usual seat enjoying the partially drawn blinds I left for her. My smile must have been noticeable as my ribs felt a poke coming from Sasha to jolt me out of my stare. "You should. You need to. At least before she sees you drooling in her direction." I shoot her a look and she shuts the fridge door and shrugs. I know she's right. I will. I just don't know when.

Eating a good chip

Typically the potato chip can't be done wrong. I mean it's from a potato, fried, coated in oil and some salt; and for most taste buds maybe a bit of flavoring for those picky palates.

In any case, how can a chip be done wrong? How can a chip discover the injustice that is a "poor recipe?" These are the questions that often puzzle my buds when attempting to try out a new brand.

You see, while pacing through the chip aisle in the grocery store and wonder, "hmm, that's an interesting label.." Without thinking you glance and check out the A-texture, B-the particular flavorings they have available, and C-how big of a bag you want to inhale in the next few days/hours. Interestingly enough, some now have "light" and "no salt added" and "lower cholesterol" labels that just jump out at you from 5 ft away.

So you shift your weight in your stance and peer side to side as you take in again, the numerous amount of bags presented before you. Should you take the risk? How can you be sure that you will enjoy the "right" chip?

Either way, you take a risk. You grab one bag that possibly will quench the crispness that you're looking for. You pay, head home, rip open the bag, reach in for a chip, raise it up to your mouth and take your first bite.

A pause overcomes you as you wait for your taste buds to acknowledge the flavor and, and......and... it tastes like dirt. No wait, like cardboard tasting dirt. You scowl and stick your tongue out and if you're lucky spit out what is left in your mouth. For others, I'm afraid, you're tortured to ingest said foreign particles masquerading as a supposed potato chip.

With no way out, no solution, you resolve to roll up the bag and either toss it to the back of your pantry to be dealt with at a later date (preferably when it decomposes on it's own) or aim it straight for the trash can.

Sadly, you're left unsatisfied and disappointed, as you still have this yearning need for a great chip and have been deceived into buying something awful.

Chin up. Grab your keys and head back to the store. Try a different store. There's potentially a different arrangement of chips awaiting to be chosen, just wanting to make you (and your buds) happy again.