I'm watching Top Gear remembering how I started to like it after watching a couple of episodes with you, now thinking how meaningless this thing is to me. I'm sinking my nails into my right index finger peeling and pulling the tender skin off on our way to a restaurant. The longer I press my lips tightly shut, the longer I keep my gaze averted from you, the stronger feeling of frigidity holds me motionless and unresponsive. I begin to think that it can go on like this forever, until the last drop of my affection and obsession is evaporated. Stupid me, you said it yourself. Feeling awkward in your presence, realizing there is no man I could picture myself with, but you. Or the image of you created in my faulty mind.