hands (cont.)
And there he was, at the bottom of the narrow staircase holding the adjacent walls with both hands while his legs were shaking and felt as if they were about to collapse.. Just a few hours ago he was just wandering aimlessly in his room trying to put some order in his thoughts about his essay, his future, his ambitions, and about her. He decided that it was time to express his repressed feelings and wave away any doubts that may have risen on the matter. He started to type but after he finished his first draft he hesitated, not out of fear but out of concern for the way he wanted his message to be delivered to her. He searched for a certain box where he kept all his material related to correspondence. Stamps, envelopes, papers, postal cards and the like were neatly ordered inside. He also found a draft of the first chapter on a story he devised right after his first visit to Potsdam, Germany a couple of years ago to test his new typewriter. He thought maybe he should take advantage of his current inspirational energy to finish it and see how it could be developed further. Clouded in thoughts again he snapped and returned to the here and now. He took a paper just like the ones he used for the story, picked up a black pen and stared at the small warm light yellow canvas. Even though most of his friends would compliment him on his handwriting he was very insecure, worrying if it was actually readable and neatly formed. It wasn't pure calligraphy but it was special in its own way. After giving it a thought or two he drew some guidelines with a pencil to help him write straight on them. After some time the words started to pour out from his heart and through his hands and pen on the paper.To end the letter he tried at his best of his ability an illustrated word doodle.. He looked at the top of the staircase, worried that he might encounter her and find himself in the situation to deliver it directly to her. “Here goes nothing” he said whispering and started climbing up the stairs as quietly as he could. Once he reached the top he moved towards her door and stopped. He saw a dim light being cast from the edges of the worn wooden door and inaudible conversations from the other side, supposedly from her talking to the phone or a film playing.. He didn't gave much more thought to it and left the envelop with her name resting on the doorstep. He took a couple of steps backwards and turned to make his leave. In an instant he found himself already at the bottom of the staircase not paying much attention being quiet. He hurried outside and rode on his bike into the foggy night.. The misty breeze was showering his face while he was once again deep in thought. His bike looked like a lighthouse under a clouded night while it travelled on the path crossing the calm and dark waters of a shallow lake. He wondered why while he has been rather social and confident when it came to casual courting in the past, he was becoming a complete coward when confronted with genuine feelings of love for someone. He hoped his letter will save him some of the trouble but he was still dreading the moment of actually discussing his feelings with her face to face without stuttering or unable to control his awkward body language. At least now he confessed it and he could worry about it the next morning while awaiting her response.. akw
