smell...

When you walked into the room I wanted to run: run from my textual behaviour; run from the pain of still wanting you; run from the inconvenience of my worry. That desire to be elsewhere remained, fed by snippets of conversation escaping down the table, your mere presence and your acknowledgement of mine.

Dissapated.

You weren't the you of my memory. Situated in my life and phantasy you are not the person there tonight - the clothes, the plans, the conversation, the swooning over him, the him.

Ambiguity. Envy and anger. I am not sure the two are mutually exclusive, like so many strong emotions.

Enter the power of smell. Recognition of the you of my mind. The fear of proximity, until now tempered by misrecognition, becomes warranted.

Lust. Love?