An unscratched itched wandered through my closet of dreams last night. A woman, with whom there was a never spoken, never acknowledged, though presumed, mutual attraction reappeared in subconscious form.
It would have been wrong for a litany of reasons not the least of which is that I always thought her a little nuts. Yet there I was twisting between sleep and the faint sounds of NPR on the radio with thoughts of her. It was a never ending loop of a bad movie scene. Clichéd images of two characters engaging in mundane activity for a moment leads to an obvious mental picture for one or both torridly removing clothes and steaming-up some inappropriate location. Then reality fades back into view.
I never sorted the attraction in my mind. I do know now as I did then that it was neither crush, nor real interest. It was not until I typed these words that I contextualized my lust. She was an apple in my mind and I chose not to bite.