Friday, June 10, 2011
Promises Made To Be Kept
Seeing you is a combination of a sunny day, and have a cloud which rains only on me. I love your smile, but I hate that I can't compliment it. I love the way you stare, but can't meet your gaze. I love the way you play with your hair, but hate that I can't reach out and grab your hand to keep you from fidgeting. I love your fidgeting, but I'd love your hand in mine more.
Somehow I lost my heart to you without you even having to say a word to me. That's not fair, you know? But I suppose, as the saying goes "all's fair in love and war." Not that this is love. Not yet. I don't know if I could love you without knowing you a little more, but it's damn strong at the moment, whatever this is.
All I want to know is if there is something for you too in those glimpses you get of me, walking past one another in and out of the room, passing each other in hallways and tunnels, each of us heading in our own direction. I want to know if there's anything there when I catch your eye for the briefest fraction of a second. Was there anything there when we talked a little? Do you find the conversations you overhear of mine entertaining? Could I have wooed you without having to speak directly to you?
If we're being honest, I feel that I am out of your class. Beside you I feel too rough, unrefined, dorky, too much like an immature child. I wonder if any of that appeals to you. My sense of humour can be crass sometimes, but if can make you laugh, I'll be happy for all eternity. As long as I'm not just 'that idiot' to you.
I wonder what you think of me, every time I stand beside you in the elevator (how is it we always end up in the same one?). Do you even think of me? Did your soft spoken well wishes apply to me also?
Perhaps I'll be lucky next time. Perhaps we'll say something to one another. Perhaps I'll know for sure. I can hope until then can I not? This is one of those times I wish I was braver. Or more poetic; somehow I believe you appreciate poetics, ever since you made that comment about reading in bookstores. I wish I could know; I want to shower you with romance. It may surprise you, but I have a romantic soul, above all else. I just haven't had a chance to share it with anyone yet, so no one really knows. I want to share it with you. I think you'd appreciate it more than most other people I've met in my life.
I promise I'll embarrass you with all the silly things I'll do, which you'll forgive me for because they're also romantic. I promise I'd sing you love songs on the spur of the moment, whether we're walking down the street, sitting in a cafe, or riding in the elevators where we seem to meet so much. I promise to take you on dates to fancy restaurants (on weekdays because you work weekends), but also on dates to parks, where we could climb the trees and recline in the branches, talking till the sun sets behind the horizon. I promise I'd visit you at work, and distract you from all the guys who are trying to hit on you from across the bar. I promise I'd hug you whenever I saw you, and keep you close. I promise I'd kiss you, even if we got stares. I promise I'd spontaneously grab your hand and drag you out on a date. I promise I'd find that spot you loved to be kissed, and proceed to kiss it at every given opportunity. I promise I'd read to you, poetry, novels, histories, scientific journals, if you so wished, anything to keep you happy. I promise I'd try to cook for you, but be warned I'm not the world's best chef. And I promise I'd make you my priority over everything else.
Those are promises made to be kept. I don't know whether you'll take me up on the offer. Just so you know, if you don't, someone else will. Eventually. I may have to wait years, but someone will. But right now, I wish it was you who'd take me up on them. I wish there was something behind those quick glances, every now and then.