She was a white silhouette in a zoomed out perspective – solo and standing center stage, her arms moved strangely. Hands cast up above her face in a modern frenzy, she danced.
“Is she sick and twisted?” I asked.
He mumbled a few points before he stated confidently, “She’s the perfect amount of everything.”
To which I said, “I meant that question as a compliment.”
To which she said, “No one wants to watch this,” referring to the video of her performing on a stage with a black vignette floating around her body. The screen was wedged between my fingers.
She looked sweeter than the direction her body was cascading along to. Sweet and warm. Sweet and warm. Her movements, despite their grace, were ebbed with an edge of sultry chaos. Was her mind raveled into the addictive world of complexity?
He was excited about her – no, enamored. I remember six months ago I watched another video of her. That time she was laughing, her face taking up most of the screen. I assumed, as the viewer, that she was looking up at him.
He liked showing her off in videos.
In any medium, I would think.
His body faces inwards towards her when he speaks to others. He describes her in a poetic rhythm where he doesn’t say much – where she is so unattainable that the attainable mystifies him. Her rich hair and inviting cheeks. His wide eyes and open energy.
When does love become love?