Victoria

So you sit there wondering
What they look like
What they sound like

You can't think about them
And you can't stop thinking about them
These people you meet at shows with dim lights

Their light paralysed you
And what was easy became hard
"I'd like to be your friend. Can I have your cell phone number?"
Those words stick stubbornly to the roof of your tongue

So you sit it out acting normal
Till they suddenly up and say, "I'll like to leave now"

You nod and shake hands
You say nervous goodbyes
Just so you end up on your desk gazing at walls of text
And thinking only of them
Of your idea of them

You fail at the attempt to recapture
The "hello again" with the "again" stressed the slightest bit
The subtle swish of their hair
Dark, acned face with round narrowing jaw

Your feeble attempt to animate memories is a rock's dream
You sell yourself a story and refuse the sale

Then you mouth a silent prayer to the God
"Maker. Make our paths cross again."