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kingsuperspecial
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Today, I did laundry.
Down to the machines, hunkered in their neglected, dusty room. A place set in its utilitarian way, a place for maintaining lives, but not for actually living in.
As I started to load my clothes, I found someone, my neighbors, had left their things. Needing the machine for my clothes, I began to put their laundry in the dryer for them. As I passed the items from one machine to the other, a mix of bits and parts from someone else's world, I marveled at the variety and character of each item. In a way, it was like viewing snapshots of the daily life of others.
At one moment, a pair of girl’s underwear caught my eye. They were nothing fancy, but sexy in a way that girls get to be, even in everyday undies. It occurred to me I should be discrete, to pretend they were no different than the dishtowel or the knee socks. But something made me pause. Rather than ignore this dainty item, I faced it square on, and asked myself just what it made me think, made me feel. I the half-dark safety of that secluded room, I paused, turned the underwear in my hands, contemplated the intimate secret something of a person I may never even speak to.
Apart from a reflex twinge of sexuality, and a hit voyeurism and guilt, I was overcome by a sobering, painful realization.
It has been a long, long time since I have been in love.
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