Part Two of 'Your Flesh Is My Shelter'

He walked into my life… I was bored, mind numbingly bored: Bored out my skull, off my head with boredom; I think you catch my drift. You know that kind of all -consuming boredom that seems to be confined purely to adolescents that apparently us adults eventually grow out of? Well evidently I hadn’t quite grown out of it just yet. I paced the room, picked up a magazine, put it back down again, switched on the TV and switched it off only minutes later, much to my mother’s irritation: “Erm, perhaps a walk might be a good idea?” my mother smiled in a sympathetic but rather stiff manner; I think I’d even stretched her interminable patience to its limits: You see, I was still recovering from the worst break up of my life and despite my attempts at nullifying the pain (a string of meaningless rebounds) nothing worked. My concentration was zero, my work was suffering, nothing caught my interest for more than a few minutes at a time. I agreed that perhaps a walk might be a good idea, anything to rid myself of this nervous tension: Unfortunately however, my spirits plummeted further as I gazed at the grey skies above and felt the cold drizzle upon my face; even the weather reflected my internal darkness. We wondered somewhat aimlessly for a few minutes until we noticed what seemed to be some kind of motor rally further ahead: “Antique motor bikes or something” my mother screwed up her eyes as she attempted to make out the wording on the posters, evidently having left her reading glasses at home again. We continued walking and melted into the crowd before us. I gazed at the gleaming machines on display with at least a modicum of interest: I actually quite liked bikes and had had a spate of bike madness with a recent ‘rebound’ (not a nice way to describe the unfortunate chap I know.) Suddenly a loud speaker announced the race was about to commence; we followed the crowd and stood behind the barriers as the first of the bikes zoomed past: It was then that the race and everything else faded into oblivion as my eyes settled upon him alone; my mother caught the direction of my gaze and sighed in an exaggerated manner, “ Oh no, I can see exactly what has caught your attention:” And miracles of all miracles he had indeed caught my attention in such a way that even I was taken aback; I was mesmerized. He was obviously a professional photographer: I watched as he moved so gracefully throughout the hordes of people, camera slung casually round his neck, stopping suddenly to capture an image then continuing as something or someone else caught his imagination; it was as if his camera were an extension of his own body. I found myself following him, moving swiftly to keep up, entranced by his every move. “Slow down!” My mother was panting as she attempted to keep pace: I slowed down allowing her to catch up and it was then he suddenly turned in my direction, the lens staring straight at me, click; He moved the camera away very slowly and stared straight into my eyes whilst smiling. ‘He will be mine’; the thought was so strong I wondered if I’d actually spoken it aloud: It was also embarrassingly cheesy and overtly dramatic but I could not help myself: I knew I had to find him again, and something told me I would as he melted away among the onlookers.

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