I can recall the first time I saw you
leaving, the first
glimpse of your auburn mane; I
hoped you would be here, just for
the chance to speak with you.
Then you began to come through that
door routinely, sending silent smiles and
greetings of a genial, if surface, nature.
As time passed, I pined and poemed after you;
an ideal image with no validity.
My gut would clench, palms perspire,
tongue swell at the thought of your attention;
I craved for even the briefest exchange.
I finally inquired,
offering myself to you in an awkward way;
a coward unable to commit.
I left the choice in your hands;
how could I hold
your decision against you?
I recall these things, and with time
they lose their luster;
but now I have your attention
and, up to this point, I
had thought it a blessing.
Now, I’m not so sure.
by Erik Shinker
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