Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy

I feel like Darcy in Pride and Prejudice
Standing in the background of the ballroom watching (being tortured) one he “loved” dance with another
While I don't think its love its surely torture
Wondering, considering, mulling over
Hoping, imagining, weighing out the possibilities and their pros and cons
Planning out and scripting what it is I'll say, considering possible responses and their responses in turn
Less like Darcy in that I'm not trying to reason my way out of it but rather into it
Still torture all the same
The back and forth
The confidence and the unsureity
The nonchalant and the unsatiable hunger
All in mind, all at once
All stirring and churning and not making sense
Turning my stomach, stealing my appetite
The moths beating their wings, rubbing the walls of my inside
Stirring discontent while all I want is peace
And rest
Or, perhaps hoping, for butterflies
All the while silent, unable to speak, to open my mouth and let the moths out
All this too; torture
Yet, with one finger, one glance, one word from her would all this be released
The upper hand of women, gosh danget


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