Friday, April 1, 2011
You carry this enigma around with you, and you never seem to speak to anyone. Maybe you're just shy and reserved, maybe we're not the type of people you tend to get along with, but whatever the case, it's incredibly attractive. And I want to speak to you, I do; don't think that I am aloof and ignoring you because I don't want to know you - it's because I do want to know you, but have no idea where to start. I'll probably try too hard and come across sounding stupid and over the top, and you'll laugh internally and think "what an idiot," before giving a slight smile and turning your eyes away politely. I'll sit there and silently curse at myself from that time forward, until I make another attempt at humour and the same thing happens.
And you have these big blue eyes which glance around and see everything. And this long hair you're constantly twirling around your fingers. And this beautiful face; I can just imagine running my fingertips along the contour of your jaw line, and pressing my lips to the ones you're so often touching with your pen or brushing your fingers over. And you have hands I can imagine holding, my fingers tracing yours, weaving in and out, in and out, over the lines on your palm and the knobs of your knuckles. And I can almost imagine the way your body would be warm against mine, so thin and tall; the way my arms would go around you. When the dreaming goes too far, I can imagine you coming up and grabbing my hand, flashing me a brilliant, beautiful grin and resting your chin on my shoulder.
I imagine sometimes you look at me the way I look at you, but I doubt it. We don't live in that kind of world. And as often as my eyes are magnetically drawn to you, as often as I try to stop them doing so, is as often as I know that it's an illusion and that I am going to walk away alone again. So while you're here and the rest of the world is out of focus, I have to keep in mind that one day you'll melt into the city lights.