A New Kind of Romance

Years ago when I lived in Las Vegas, I found myself living alone for the first time in ten years.  It was strange.  Lonely.  Sad, and exciting all at the same time.  I was brand new to so many things.  It was just me and my cat sharing so much space.  He became my voice of reason.  I would bounce ideas off of him.  I would talk to him.  I would fight with him.  I was a little bit insane, placing so many human traits on my new constant companion.  That cat will not make another appearance in this post.  He's not relevant to anything I'm going to say.  I might be lying, at this point I have no idea what I'm going to say.  

One night coming home from work I passed my neighbor going up to her apartment which was directly across from mine.  She was a cute young thing.  I don't remember her name, though I'm sure she told me at some point.  We exchanged pleasantries, as we usually did.  It was always friendly although we weren't friends.  We saw each other in passing almost daily, and our routines caused us to more often than not, briefly occupy similar space.

She always had a smile, and a kind word, or words.  Sometimes we'd spend ten or fifteen minutes just casually passing time, and on a few occasions shared a cigarette in the parking lot.  In retrospect I should have invested more.  More time.  More interest.  More something to pursue an actual friendship.  I didn't.  I was fresh off a divorce, and not really sure of myself around strangers.  I've always been that way.  I still am.  More on that later.

This particular night, we said our hello's and see you later's and went into our respective apartments.  I went into my bedroom and turned on my light.  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that out my window and across the way her bedroom light turned on as well.  Her room was in direct view of mine.  I looked up, and saw her standing there in her window.  I was taken off guard.  I felt embarrassed.  Awkward.  I felt that I was intruding into her personal space, looking into her bedroom.  Watching her.  As I went to close my blinds she waved at me.  I guess she didn't feel the same awkwardness.  She simply smiled and waved...and then...proceeded to strip off.

Strange right?  

This doesn't happen in real life.

This is something out of a bad teenage sex movie.

This is my life in technicolor.

I can't say she was putting on a show...per se.  She wasn't dancing around her room.  She wasn't performing, although she knew she had an audience.  She was simply going about her nightly routine.  Get out of clothes.  Stop in front of mirror.  Go shower.  Whatever.  She was simply living behind glass, and I was well...

I watched.  I'm hesitant to admit this in an open forum.  I realize this sets me up for all sorts of judgement.  I understand this pretty much fully qualifies me as creepy.  I did have permission though...I guess...so to speak.  It certainly didn't bother her.

I saw her again the next day.  Same routing.  Same crossing of paths.  Same words exchanged.  As if the entire episode never happened. No comments.  She didn't bring it up.  I sure as shit didn't.  What the hell was I going to say..."Hey, saw you naked.  It was nice."  Yeah, I didn't say that.

It didn't happen again the next night.  I did happen again though.  A few times.  I'm not sure she knew I was watching every single time.  I know for a fact she knows I watched more than just the once.  She always acknowledged me when she was aware.  It was as if nothing to her.  It was very often the best part of my day.  At some point it just became a thing.  Sometimes it happened.  Sometimes it didn't.  It simply was.

She played exhibitionist.  I played voyeur.  Those were our assigned roles in this scenario.  

In my entire life I think I've told only one, maybe two other people about this little episode in my life.  This is something I've kept largely to myself for all these many years.  So why am I talking about it now in such a public forum?  Allow me a moment to explain.  Although this be madness, there is a method to it.  I'm going to take the long way.  Bear with me, or don't.  It's your time, if you feel its a waste, then feel free to move along, but I will get there eventually I promise.

Today at work I had a small, and brief epiphany.  It wasn't grand.  Lightning didn't strike.  I was a moment of realizing something I already knew about myself.  Simply confirmation of a known fact.

I don't easily make friends.  The ones I do make are for life, but they are few.  I am closed off.  Reserved.  I keep myself to myself.  I've always been this way.  I can't explain it, it just is.  

I looked at all the people I've worked with for just under a year now.  The same faces I see almost daily.  I talk to these people more than almost anyone else in my life.  I interact with them.  I hear their stories, and their problems.  I know the names of their children, and spouses.  I know what movies they watch.  What they had for lunch.  What books they're reading.

They know nothing about me.  They are not my friends.  I am not close to them.  I don't care.  I honestly don't.  I will not miss them when either they or I am gone.  This may be horrible, but its how I am.  I don't intend to change this little thing about myself.

I am an alone person.  I am not lonely, but I am alone, and I'm pretty okay with that.  There are a few I let in, and I love those that I do so deeply that for all the words I'm familiar with, and its quite a few, I don't have the right ones to explain how I feel about these people.

For the most part though, I pass you by.  You pass me by as well.  We exchange pleasantries.  We smile.  We say our hello's and see you later's.  We may share a cigarette, and then we go our separate ways.  You go into your room, and I go into mine.  You turn on your computer, and if you're reading this, that means that you find my blog, and you watch me strip off.  

I don't dance.  I don't perform.  I simply do.  I put down my words.  I bare myself to you, and I know you're watching.  Sometimes.  Sometimes I don't.  When I am aware of it though, I acknowledge that you're there.  I am not ashamed, knowing that you see me.  I simply do what I would be doing otherwise.  I may hardly know you, but I show you things, that I don't show the people I see every single day.  This is our moment.  This is our dance.

I want you to know that I watch you too.  When I can.  When you let me.  You may not always know it, but I'm very often there.  And for it all, we know each other, although we don't know each other at all.  Its really the neatest kind of magic.

According to my page here I have six followers.  This number in and of itself is really not that significant to me, other than being a measuring device.  I am often amazed when I find that someone else read what I wrote.  People I would never imagine, have taken the time to share these words with me.  I am being blogstalked by all sorts of folks, and quite frankly...I kinda love it.

I'm blogstalking you too.

We are all voyeurs.  We are all exhibitionists.  We share ourselves best behind the safety of glass.  

By the way...I love your words.  I may have told you this.  I wasn't lying.  If I haven't told you this, I'm telling you now.  I love your words.  Please keep giving them to me.

I'll keep giving you mine.