A Wigwam for a Goose's Bridle

A local decrease in entropy

is the only thing that could explain the coincidence.

I got a shock, seeing you there,

sitting right in front of me.

Brief eye contact,

a smile.

Fancy seeing you here,

I should have said,

but my gaze averted

and no words came out.

The corners of your mouth

flickered, hinted a smile.

You looked back to your books.

Instantly, I regretted that I had not said

something, anything,

not even hello.

You had me before hello.

How did you touch me

like that

from across a table?

I thought,

he'll think me rude.

I opened

my mouth to rectify,

belatedly, my lack of greeting,

but was rendered once more aphasic.

What could I have said

besides? The time for hello

had passed.  Every phrase

or sentence coming to mind

was dismissed: this one

is too cold, or that one

too forward.  This one

is unsuitable for an audience.

And second by agonising second

the deadline for conversational

commencement approached

and passed.

And then the fears and doubts

that had crept into my mind

while I was preoccupied

with finding words

that used to come easily,

leapt out and made their presence known:

you also looked away

and made no sound.

Were you waiting for me to start?

Was there nothing you wanted to say?

Or had my eyes in that briefest moment

betrayed the truth of my emotion

and heralded unspoken descent 

into

awkwardness

of

nonreciprocation.

And then, of course,

resurfaced a whole other crowd

of doubts and fears,

telling me I had been wrong all along.

But it was unmistakable,

the chemistry,

on my part at least.

Sitting there silently,

pretending to focus on my books,

I marveled at your magnetism.

It was hard to believe

the lasso around my attention

was not a physical object you had thrown.

I listened, enthralled 

by the magic of your laughter,

and when I dared,

I glanced across, 

risking the captivation of your eyes,

and wondering if you had any idea

of these thoughts

overturning my mind and my heart.  

And all day since, you've haunted me,

distracting me as you do,

but the intensity sharpened

by regret that I barely spoke;

by fear that you read the reason

incorrectly, and by that I might

have burst the bubble,

have blown my chance;

by disbelief

that you could steal my power of speech.

And still I don't know what to say,

how to tell you

my heart is already held hostage

by this warrior who keeps falling

off his horse.

30 November 2010