eye contact.

the most unnerving 3.46 minutes of my life: hearing Mayer's incantation pillage me of the one secret that still, to this day, wrecks the beauty she tells me i possess. say what you need to say. say what you need to say. sitting across from me--a man whose sole instruction is this: Give Her Uninterrupted Eye Contact Until The Music Stops. .01 minutes--God. Please. No. NO. 1.20 minutes--is my dilated pupil telling him the truth that has tasted of venom on my lips for the past decade? 2.03--i'll be okay if he looks through me, past the follicles and pain of feeling studied as a specimen, an oddity, a disheveled, disoriented, dislocated body. 2.51--damn this song is repetitious. say what you need to say. eye contact rarely remains eye contact for me. EYE CONTACT is what i can give but not what i can comfortably receive. it used to be the type of intimacy that felt like malignancy, and if you broke contact, somehow i didn't feel so broken. 3.46--say what you need to say. help me, God, to live in the freedom of 3.46. i am more than Revlon, Maybelline, Almay and secrecy is the sickness and i cannot give up.