Look at me in that tone

I saw a lot of strange faces on the train and street this morning. I saw a lot of cringes and frowns, some deep thinking faces and some that were completely disinterested in everything around them. I’m not sure what my face was doing, considering it’s my face and I can’t always see what it’s doing.

These strange and curious faces passed by and I hope I didn’t embarrass them by my squinty-eyed looks at them. I’m pretty near-sighted so pardon my awkward stare. The thing I noticed about myself however is I only seem to look at the faces of women. Men pass by me without much notice, in fact, I can’t recall looking at a single male face on my trip into work.

Clearly my heterosexuality is intact.  It did get me wondering though about faces and the female faces of my past. How many have looked at me with tears in their eyes or with hilarious amazement or complete and total love? How much of that have I reciprocated? I know lots of women whom I don’t look at in the eyes because I know they know that I’m full of shit. They’re the ones that can make me look down at my shoes as my cheeks flush.  They’re the ones dearest to me I suppose.

The faces of men don’t really have any effect on me. They could be crying or in pain or laughing hysterically and I really don’t notice. I wonder if that’s a human failing or if it’s just being a dude. Or that most of my good friends are women. It’s probably something I should blame my father for, but it’s Christmas time and there’s no need to hand our presents of blame.

Of all these faces though there is one that I sincerely miss and it’s the face of a woman in love with me. There’s something pure and highly romanticized about it, but I love it. There have been a few moments in my life where I have actually seen the love for me on her face and it makes me melt like a Swede in a sauna. I miss it terribly.  I’m trying to find that again but it’s been pretty rough.

So I’ll keep staring at the pretty faces on the street, hoping our eyes will meet, our hearts will fill and the music will come up, we’ll blush and smile until one of has the courage to say, “Hi”. Let the melting begin.