Animation

"I'm an open book," he says to me as we are standing in the brightly lit kitchen, him sipping on the wine, and me with my ice water, which he politely keeps re-filling.

I would argue otherwise. No man has held more mystery for me, which has to be some of the seductive appeal.

If I knew the pages of his alluring memoir, would my fascination for him hold? Or would it dissipate like watching wind carry away paper in a whirling force of Nature?

I've left messages to him, TXT and real live calls, all to no vail. He has simply vanished from my animation.