Turning her pen, eyes
stare distantly.
She runs a finger
through her hair, her ear exposed.
I glance, it's hard not
to stare when it brings me such joy
To see her face and she
smiles in that moment
Causing a drum roll
within my chest.
She raises her gaze, a
furrowed brow in concentration,
Lips pursed. I look
away and replay the moment.
She scribbles in her
book and I wonder...
I mean, it's not about
me, but I want to know
What's inside her. To
know her. To understand her.
It's beautiful what
makes people tick
And to know what makes
them insecure,
If you'll allow me, so
I can offer a shoulder,
Or more?
Like warm ocean waters,
her voice washes over me.
The echo of her words
beats down on me,
Her radiance, I worship
(just a little for now).
I want to speak, to say
I agree, or tell her she's wrong
Maybe. Affectionately.
But such things are
easily broken. When you're clumsy.
Like a boy who wants to
pull at her tenderly,
But only pushes her
away with fledgling fervour.
We smile. Me at her.
Her at another.
Her eyes have never
held my reflection.
I wonder how my name
sounds
If she sighed it.
Is there a day when
I'll have her to myself?
I'm patient. I can wait
for her.
But my reticence
tortures me fiercely.
I want to make her
laugh.
I want her to look at
me and see something good.
I want to turn to her.
Say hello, but my voice stays.
I want to reach out a
hand.
That's a choice that'll
never be made.
I know you'll be
looking. Now.
Too late for redaction.
I hear a tremble in my
voice and pray it's just in my head
As you listen. And
watch me. Not knowing
If my song is for you,
till I say your name.
And I remember right
then in a moment of clarity
It isn't Creative
Practice at all it's Drama you fool
The girl she's in my Drama Seminar.
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