infatuated - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
That warm, raspy voice that possessed his cords that night, sent nerves dancing up my spine. His smile sent my mind into an uncontrolled, captivated spiral and his light touch lingered, it branded my soul with a simple mark: infatuation. To call it love would be a mockery of my heart, a symbol of my dying innocence. But every tempered word he spoke invaded my mind, like ivy tendrils seeking any point of weakness to enter; they wrapped my body in a blanket of comfort and consumed my soul in the heat of lust.
I remember that night in a soft, painful haze. It's the night that taught me the difference between love and infatuation. Love is unconditional, eternal... Infatuation? It dies.
Gregor permeates my every thought. Each time I do something I rehearse how to tell him the news, imagine his reaction, rehearse my response... As I do so, my mind's eye sees how the light plays on his skin. Each time he smiles I feel the rush of warmth, the spark of hope for something between him and I.
Normal thoughts barely formed in his mind before they were replaced with the melancholy longing and the fantasies of what could be if he were only brave enough to tell her. Food became like cardboard, chewy and laborious to eat. The sunshine had no meaning for him unless he could be with her. He daydreamed about every feature of her face, he recalled every way he had ever seen her wear her hair, he had logged all of her quirky mannerisms to his brain. He talked of nothing and no-one else to his friends and now it seemed they had started to avoid him, could it be that they were bored of hearing it by now?
By day this cafe is the colour of supermarket oranges, it has that shiny look, and the jazz pours out of the open doors along with the aroma of fresh baked lasagne. But now that it's almost tomorrow and the light of the day has been replaced by the unrelenting blackness of night, the frontage is as grey as the smooth concrete sidewalk at my feet. I take in a deep breath, sucking in the air that carries a hint of dampness and lacks the heavy pollution of the day traffic. It could almost be another season in another place, but I'm not wishing to be elsewhere. I've already written it my diary, 24th August 2014, "The day Jessie tells me he loves me as much as I love him..."
The traces of the girl she had been lingered in Lara's smile and the thinness of her body. Another year and her curves would fill out just a little, just enough to give her her adult shape. She had the trappings of womanhood already, the cute clutch purse and the healed shoes peeking out from under her frayed jeans. On her brown skin was just the right hint of make-up, enough to show she wasn't a kid but not so much as an older woman would wear. The world still excited her, she saw opportunities ahead, a life of good fun and good health. I think that's why Rory loved her so much, she was everything he wanted, he idolized her. I suppose that's where the problems began, they'd known each other since childhood and she saw him more like a cousin than a love interest. When they moved off to university together to share a condo near campus it was with mindsets that couldn't have been further apart...
It were as if her brain had been reprogrammed over night, overridden. It was as if all her previous interests had been deleted and replaced with the image of his face and the sound of his voice. She didn't blame her friends for being bored of hearing about him. She was bored of herself too but her brain would supply her with nothing else to think about and she dwelled on how she would seduce him, make him hers, make him see they were soul-mates.
The day had ebbed by slower than old treacle. Mark's usual slouch had been replaced by a stiff mannequin pose. Melinda would be at the old pub at seven thirty, Melinda with the blue eyes and warm smile. He imagined touching her straw coloured hair as he kissed her, told her a funny joke and bought her whiskey and coke. He could already hear the chatter of the other patrons and taste the salt & vinegar crisps. He'd been awful at work, the boss had had to tell him everything three times and he had gotten half his usual volume done. At home he'd slumped into a chair with the internet, it had been seven before he checked the time again. He hadn't showered, planned what to wear or which bus to take. He'd stuck his hands in his pockets for bus fare, notes were no good - exact fare only. He'd pulled out a handful of coppers and sworn more fluently that he had done since high-school. His brain had buzzed unproductively until he'd run out in his work clothes to hail a cab...
Everything that was important before I met Jada has faded to almost nothing. Before her my school studies were vivid reds and oranges in my mind, high priority flags of things to do... now they are sun-bleached yellow, almost cream. I procrastinate, daydream, project fantastical futures of me and her. We are academics, we are runaway lovers, we are backpackers stowed away on ship... Then I see her and my mouth becomes dry, saliva turned to glue, and my brain shuts right down.
There isn't a moment that I am awake that Karl isn't in my thoughts. Many nights he is there in my dreams, always out of reach just like in real life. I'd give anything to be one his many friends, those girls that hang on his words and laugh at his jokes. I won't be though. He looks my way and I blush; he speaks to me and I splutter something non-coherent in return; he sits next to me and I feel my skin begin to sweat.