Aware
Dr. Sherwood Wolf-Palmarium

I saw her across the crowded library.
	This girl, carrying a stack of books clearly too heavy for her to manage, she slips and the stack goes all over the place.
	When she crouches down to collect the books, a piece of hair falls over her face.
	This is when I lose my train of thought.
	This is the beat that my heart skipped.
	This is when I decide to take my chances, to approach her, help her and maybe to get her name. To get to know her.
	Hope to fall in love even.
	This girl, like most women, possesses such simplistic beauty, it's astounding.
	The best way I can think to describe this feeling is with the Japanese word "Aware" (pronounced a-war-ay) meaning reverence for transient beauty and mortality of all things.
	Women are so undeniably torturous even if all they do is exist.
	I swear to God, every time I see a beautiful woman, I revel in the sheer inequality in the world. Some women are so gorgeous it's not even fair; the notion that another human being exists who is allowed to kiss them, to be wanted by them, it's just unreal to me. I feel so unfairly matched that no matter what I could ever dream of accomplishing, doing or saying, I'd immediately be outdone by so much as a smile. Or in this case, just the way hair can fall in the face. It just kills me. 
	Even though you can tell that this girl is embarrassed, she stumbled so nimbly it almost seemed as though she did it on purpose. It's roughly around the age of eleven or thereabouts that women acquire a poise and an ability to handle difficult situations which, a man, if he's lucky manages to achieve somewhere in his late seventies.
	What do I even say to her?
	I can't exactly just go up to her and say, "Hey, I've been spying on you from across the library."
	To which she'd most likely respond, "Oh, is that right?"
	"Sure is! You know something stranger, I'd go to the ends of the Earth for you!"
	Considering how smart, funny, witty, charming, magnetic and fascinating she most likely is, she'd probably flash a stunning smile and say, "Yes, but would you stay there?"
	How do I make this work? 
How am I expected to think lucidly if she decides to smile at me? At the right time, that would just annihilate me altogether (as if I'm not already…)
How do I look cool? Telling yourself to act like George Clooney only goes so far. Even past introductions, what if this does work? What if we go out on a date and run out of things to talk about? I can picture it now: we'd be sitting there and an uncomfortable silence would fall between us. I'd immediately begin to search my mind for something awesome to say. Something cool. In a bit of desperation and with the first thing I'd think of, I'd yell out, "ANTS!"
	"Ants are cool."
	Her face would portray a startled expression and the panic inside me would get exponentially worse. I'd scramble, thinking, 'save this save this save this save this any which way you can': "…sometimes…Ants are cool, sometimes." And I breathe a sigh of relief wrongfully thinking I was so suave that Michael Caine would be jealous.
	To think of all of the unnecessary difficulties that women have to endure. How much harder their lives are in comparison to men. 
	How whatever they do, they must do twice as well to be thought half as good.
	Luckily, this is not much of a problem.
	Even from an early age, the difficulties in comparison to men are eclipsing.
 	As a guy, I can't imagine bleeding on a monthly basis which doubles as a ticking-clock dynamic – the reminder that the window of opportunity to have children and a family gets smaller and smaller with every fading month. Past that, there are hot flashes, cramps and mood swings to look forward to in Menopause. 
	Makes the whole voice-cracking gawky and awkward pubescent stage for boys look completely and utterly unproblematic. 
	And when women do capitalize on the chance to have a baby, they have the intense pain of childbirth to deal with. An ordeal often compared to stretching the lower lip all the way up and to the back of the head. They have to carry another human being inside of them for nine months. All the guy has to do is be there. Attend to the strange food cravings and be tolerant and supportive of the raging hormones that come with pregnancy. 
	As weird as it sounds, as I get closer to this fallen angel, I'm picturing an older version of the two of us in our marital bed; she turns to me and says, "I don't know why, but I'm craving pickles and ice-cream." 
	Okay, so say this does work out and, somehow, I manage to be charming – how do I go about not being stuck in a constant state of amazement, say if we were to hold hands? How do I not look like a deer caught in the headlights? I look at other couples and wonder how they can be so cool about it? They hold hands as if they weren't even holding hands. If this girl and I were to hold hands, I know that I wouldn't be able to stop myself from just staring at it, marvelling at this gesture. It would be my hand, the same hand I've always had – oh, but look, what is it holding? It's this smart, funny, pretty, all-around amazing (and possibly French) girl's hand! And who is this Goddess in my immediate proximity? Only my three-dimensional, non-fictional girlfriend!
	Being a guy and therefore knowing how I function as a male, I can't imagine any woman, let alone an astonishing one, who would look forward to spending eternity with any one of us. It does not sound like the most tempting option.
	And all of a sudden, lesbianism makes sense to me.
	When asked, "What are you thinking about?" a man will most likely answer, "Nothing."
This is not a lie. Men, as an organization, are simple; we are easily distracted.
And somehow, still, we seem to control the world. 
Sexism still exists – just look at comic books even. Wonder Woman is really the only credible superhero, despite the fact that she (originally) had less than spectacular super-powers and dresses like a hooker you'd expect to have a name like Infinity…or Mercedes. Possibly even Cherry.
What if this girl and I ended up being in a relationship? What would I ever do if she broke up with me? How could I ever deal with that? The funny thing is, now that I'm thinking about it, if anyone ever tried to console me with "Don't worry, there's other fish in the sea, she's just a girl" – I'd probably snap.
I can just see it now: "Just a girl? Just a girl? Think of it this way, if you were to lose or break your copy of Street Fighter: Third Strike and I told you, 'It's okay man, there's other games in the sea. Here, play Mortal Kombat instead.' What would you say? You'd say, 'Forget that, gimme Third Strike.'"
It just wouldn't be the same.
No girl would ever be able to match up to this girl, I bet.
Now within speaking distance to the object of my recent affection, my heart is beating so loud that it's the only thing I can hear. I'm worried she'll be able to see my pulse through my shirt. Or when I open my mouth to speak, the palpitations will resonate and echo so loud that she won't be able to hear me.
Crazy that all of this was onset by such a small thing.
I'm standing three feet from her now. As I bend to collect one of the stray books, I realize that she's picked them all up.
Nervously, I stand up at the same time she does.
Channelling the poise of Paul Newman, I smile and simply say, "Hello."