I do my darnedest to ignore every warning from others.
Now I'm smiling and its only because I'm terrified
I think I'm going to ride my bike off your porch and see if it will take flight. Real Wizard of Oz style, basket and all, hair blowing in the wind.
Away from secondary-dominants, my grown-up job, and my 8th floor disaster.
Maybe I'll fly to France, across the big pond, through the Canary Islands, to Baptiste, the French boy that bought me coffee once. Now its is November 4th, 2007, and I swear:
I was on the clock, but I stood still, for time was standing still, and looked into his eyes while he messed with his words, trying to make me understand. I did not. But I still gazed into his eyes as his face turned red with frustration, or perhaps embarrassment. A divide I had become patient with over the past few months.
"Tuesday," he said. He wanted to tell me I was beautiful.
"Tuesday, Tuesday, Tuesday."
Well it was Tuesday, and I was cold even in my mothers wool coat. I shuffled on my feet. Bus after bus had come and I was growing anxious. I crossed the street with the same wobbly legs I had felt under his gaze as I worked. "Go gather your thoughts," Kerry had told me. They proved to be ungatherable.
He stood at the bottom of the stairs, perfect locks of brown, dark blue eyes. In his lanky, awkward way he gathered me about, and kissed both of my cheeks, the custom, as it was understood.
Over coffee, we messed with a dictionary. Saying loving things, to complete strangers, who had in some strange way, decided upon one another the moment their eyes met. "Try, try," I pleaded and he had to look the word up.
On opposite sides of the subway we stood, staring at each other, legs slightly parted as if bracing to jump to the other side. He blew me a kiss, I caught it. His train was coming. I could see it encroaching from around the corner, we stood, desperation in our eyes. It whirred by, he disappeared from my view, and yet I stood, fists clenched. I saw him push through the crowd and press his face to the door. I made a heart with my fingers, and he returned it. There was sadness in his face and he stared at me until the very end. I watched his train disappear down the tracks, never once questioning how I had fallen in love with a stranger.
I'm not 17 anymore. I wont park my car, drop that phone, sleep on the floor, or dream about anyone.
"Tuesday," he said. He wanted to tell me I was beautiful.
"Tuesday, Tuesday, Tuesday."
Well it was Tuesday, and I was cold even in my mothers wool coat. I shuffled on my feet. Bus after bus had come and I was growing anxious. I crossed the street with the same wobbly legs I had felt under his gaze as I worked. "Go gather your thoughts," Kerry had told me. They proved to be ungatherable.
He stood at the bottom of the stairs, perfect locks of brown, dark blue eyes. In his lanky, awkward way he gathered me about, and kissed both of my cheeks, the custom, as it was understood.
Over coffee, we messed with a dictionary. Saying loving things, to complete strangers, who had in some strange way, decided upon one another the moment their eyes met. "Try, try," I pleaded and he had to look the word up.
On opposite sides of the subway we stood, staring at each other, legs slightly parted as if bracing to jump to the other side. He blew me a kiss, I caught it. His train was coming. I could see it encroaching from around the corner, we stood, desperation in our eyes. It whirred by, he disappeared from my view, and yet I stood, fists clenched. I saw him push through the crowd and press his face to the door. I made a heart with my fingers, and he returned it. There was sadness in his face and he stared at me until the very end. I watched his train disappear down the tracks, never once questioning how I had fallen in love with a stranger.
I'm not 17 anymore. I wont park my car, drop that phone, sleep on the floor, or dream about anyone.
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