My Boulder

You are sitting with a friend in a restaurant, everything is white and serene, and you are skinny, tan and beautiful. I am carrying an enormous rock (I was trying to find someone to explain the meaning of the spiraling black stone). I am standing next to you, you ask what I am doing here (I had a gift to give you). We exchange pleasantries, and I remember thinking that you were surprisingly nice to me. As I am about to leave, trying to get out of the shameful conversation, you look at my face and I can feel it. You then take your three fingers and rub them, possibly playful, most likely mocking, on my left cheek. Immediately I knew what you were doing, you were trying to lessen the redness of my face, I was blushing so hard, I remember thinking I couldn't even imagine it. I ended up telling you I was nervous, then made it for the door with my boulder.