A world of beautiful women

I fall in love with women daily.  It doesn't always last the same amount of time, it doesn't mean I'll love them, or some aspect of them forever (perhaps unconsciously), but then again, I may, and sometimes think I will, even though I haven't gotten to that point yet, that vague blur of possibility.  I'm a great admirer of beauty.  I'm wrapped up in aesthetics.  I have a wealth of vanity.  Balancing girls like spinning plates while I'm walking to nowhere.  Feeling like a spectator.  Talking talking talking.  To the casual observer I'll be moving and speaking and entertaining, natural as a river running, but a river whose bed is frozen, where only the top is moving, but even this is an illusion.  Being alone with someone.  Looking at them, letting the images crystalize, face, hands, a rug, oblique light, music, smell, a vague crystal of memory.  Desire.  Ambiguity.  Pictures.  Walls of pictures...cities...civilizations of images of women.  And at night, I dream of people who I have never seen, and may never, and I wonder if they're alive, or were alive, or will be, and if I'll know them, or whether I've met people and I just can't remember.  I walk around the world of beautiful women, and they affect me, they all affect me, every one, the kind and the cruel.