Is it lust or loathing or something in between?

I love the movie Vicki Cristina Barcelona.
I saw it when I lived in Rhode Island and it was one of those nights that made the year splendid.

I watched it again the other night and as my own life is a script in progress, Timing cued a particular sir to enter, stage left, for his reocurring appearance that always leaves me with one eyebrow skeptically raised.

This sir is someone I can't quite figure out.
His motives are unclear, his agenda shaky, and yet every encounter I have with him seems to be poignant and significant in some unprecedented way.

He seems to always appear in juxtaposition with someone else I'm seeing.
He is inconsistent and disappears for great stretches of time.
And yet, ever always, makes his way back into my life, continuing to make me tilt my head to the side, in wonder.

What. Is. He. Up. To?

I remember one of the first times he wanted to meet up PC was aware of our rendezvous and teased him about it, indirectly.
PC was convinced the young sir merely harbored a school boy crush on me and was hoping for some naughty little intrigue.

But I've never felt that he liked me the way most men do.
In fact, there is an odd balance of intrigue and disgust when he looks at me.

There's a line in Vicki Cristina Barcelona where the narrator says Juan Antonio speaks of Maria Elena whom he both idolized and criticized.

I sort of feel like this kid sees me in a similar light.

He told me once he had to prepare himself in anticipation of seeing me.
That there was something about my wit, my dialogue, my very presence that kept him on his toes.
And yet he also claimed there was a freedom in his laughter when he was around me.

A peculiar sort of suitor, if ever there was one.

In spite of myself, I agreed to meet with him again.
An exchange sure to leave me shaking my head as I walk away in the opposite direction.

But I had to wonder, since his timing so often aligns with others, if anyone else from my past is lurking around a corner.

My days never cease to surprise me.
And only Time seems to know the frequency of those surprises.