u/PracticallyBatty

My crush is a 40-something year old married historian. She correctly claims people of the past didn't label their sexualities. And how would I label mine when I half-love someone who will never even look at me. I imagine kisses mostly, and rarely further. Mostly, I fantasize about being eye-to-eye with a woman with a PhD. Mostly, I think about watching her give lectures, about sitting on her bed as she fixes her makeup, about zipping the back of her dress, about being a voyeur in a life I long for. I spend hours daydreaming about a place that doesn't really exist.

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I read her books, I listen to the bands she likes, I read her husbands posts. I see her casual photos, sunburned on the chest and turn red in response. She sewed a ruff for her cat, she curses like a sailor, she dates two people at once; we are so much alike in my mind, but she glows and I do not exist. She drinks, I see the foam on her beer, the condensation, and I am intoxicated.

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The sun shines on my face and I want to touch it but I can't, it would never feel as good as holding the ball of flame. I'll never get close enough. I like her, her writing, her hair, her smile, I like her husband. In my head, I meld myself into the gaps of her life, the unillustrated, I fit myself at her feet. To look up at her would be more erotic than to ever touch, and not in my wildest dreams will either happen.

My crush is a 40-something year old married historian. She correctly claims people of the past didn't label their sexualities. And how would I label mine when I half-love someone who will never even look at me. I imagine kisses mostly, and rarely further. Mostly, I fantasize about being eye-to-eye with a woman with a PhD. Mostly, I think about watching her give lectures, about sitting on her bed as she fixes her makeup, about zipping the back of her dress, about being a voyeur in a life I long for. I spend hours daydreaming about a place that doesn't really exist.

​

I read her books, I listen to the bands she likes, I read her husbands posts. I see her casual photos, sunburned on the chest and turn red in response. She sewed a ruff for her cat, she curses like a sailor, she dates two people at once; we are so much alike in my mind, but she glows and I do not exist. She drinks, I see the foam on her beer, the condensation, and I am intoxicated.

​

The sun shines on my face and I want to touch it but I can't, it would never feel as good as holding the ball of flame. I'll never get close enough. I like her, her writing, her hair, her smile, I like her husband. In my head, I meld myself into the gaps of her life, the unillustrated, I fit myself at her feet. To look up at her would be more erotic than to ever touch, and not in my wildest dreams will either happen.

Trying to enjoy an audio only to get interrupted by a job rejection because I failed the fucking preliminary assessment.

How stupid can I be genuinely? I even tried to make myself sound more ambitious and driven in the answers. I didn't/don't even want the job, I just pictured myself not being trapped in this house all isolated for a split second and the tiny glint of a fantasy is gone as quick as it arrived.

Hello, I'm wondering where I could get a word translated from elvish into English. I know there's a few translators online that go the opposite direction but that's not what I'm looking for. My partner's username used Latin script but was elvish, my guess would be quenyan but I'm not certain. They told me the meaning years ago but I cant quite remember.