Crystal Wineglass

We met three years ago. Although he wasn’t the first guy I saw, he was the only guy (as far as I could remember) who caught my attention in the workplace. He was dark, with round puppy-dog eyes that matched a boyish smile that somehow hid a naughty, teasing sense that just intrigued and appealed to me. He stood tall, but not that tall. Just right for my stance, I suppose. Nonetheless, I was capriciously (?!) drawn to him.

I never really was the type to flaunt myself, let alone make a step towards any guy, no matter how much ‘in like’ or smitten I am. I could be one hell of a tease though, but I never really got around to walking, let alone, running after any guy for that matter. But what I could do is to lead him towards me. And lead I did.

There were these flirtatious one-liners and lingering looks and hidden smiles behind all the bickering we had. I was intoxicated by his effect on me. I don’t know about him, but I felt this certain attraction and chemistry between us. It was like two crystal wineglasses clicking.

But don’t get me wrong. Attraction doesn’t equal emotion -- at least for me, as much as love doesn’t define lust. But just as one could not ignore the other, I considered and actually welcomed feeling all these: attraction, emotion, love and lust. The attraction was already a dead give-away; the emotion didn’t necessarily involve serious romantic anticipations; the only love concerned was the thought of how I loved the girl I was around him; and lust? Go figure.

He was like those Swiss dark chocolates. Addicting and intoxicating. Rich and sinful (and by all means, I’m referring to these two words figuratively). He was right there, dangling himself flamboyantly -- teasing me, intriguing me, tempting me. How could this chocoholic (boy-crazy) girl say no? Simple. I just said so and walked away. And walk I did towards my then-boyfriend.

But we’ve always kept each other posted about our lives every once in a while. There were those quirky news and relationship hang-ups, the simpler weekend get-away and party plans, those recent bar-room and bedroom jokes we’ve picked up from around us. We’ve talked about everything and nothing else and in every which way we felt like. It was cute and cozy, really.

Fast forward to now (three years later), I finally got around to pouncing on him the moment my now-ex boyfriend walked out on me. How did it happen? With a snap of a lighter…

I was in a frenzy, being duped. I had to talk to someone who would be highly opinionated but never judgmental. Someone who would take me seriously but would not be overtly serious about the heartbreak I was going through. Someone who could drag my weary mind away from the anger, disappointment, devastation and everything else that a cheating partner could cause the disconcerted girl in me. Someone who also has been cheated on and still had the perfect sense, coolness and confidence to get a move on and smoke, drink and just chill like there’s just no tomorrow.

We talked, laughed, goofed around, and laughed some more. And then we flirted, talked, laughed, and flirted some more. And like two crystal wineglasses, we clicked and toasted to something nice that we knew we both shared.

Like those two crystal glasses, our similarities were all clear (at least to me). We followed the same line of reasoning and had the same points and opinions about things and life in general. We speak the same lingo and share the same interests in the simplest, mundane things such as music and movies and daily activities -- and again, about life in general. We both had our eccentricities and complexities that we both understood, accepted and agreed on.

I thought we had the same depth and sympathy. I thought he saw and weighed our friendship the way I did. I thought he was a keeper, a lifer. I thought he was that one man that a complicated woman like me would always keep. I thought we’ve established a certain pact of understanding and trust that we would always have each other to look back at. I thought wrong.

I was honest with him from the very start -- in everything I said and did. I was me -- with all the fad and sense I could muster. But while I gave more precedence to our friendship and more faith to his words, he managed to withhold himself from me. I was well aware of how much image and reputation mattered to him, because just like him, I stood well-guarded when it concerned mine. But I never thought that to him, image and reputation counted more than a deeper friendship.

Rumors, like cheap wine, could never go unnoticed for someone who thinks too highly of himself. No matter how clear and refined the crystal wineglasses are, the after-taste of a bitter cheap wine would always linger in the lips, and even in the back of the mind.

I still think of him every once in a while. The thought of him still lingers in the back of my mind, like the taste of that cheap, bitter red wine. There aren’t any dark chocolates left, just that dark space that could not be seen from a crystal wineglass. And I feel sorry, for the bond lost and the love that his callous actions have been forcing me to forget.
There is only a single empty wineglass that has remained. And some nights I lay awake, waiting and praying, not for another wineglass to click and toast with… but for a good red wine to fill it up and intoxicate me. One who, just like he did, would share the attraction, emotion, love and yes, even lust…