I like loving her at a distance.
She doesn’t know, and I think it’s best that way.
We have several classes together, and I sit as close to her as I can,
Without being too obvious.
I don’t like obvious.
I prefer oblivious.
It’s like obvious, but with a li added to it.
A lie.
A sweet lie.
We talk though, and whenever I can, I try to make her laugh.
As our Brit Lit prof dictates her notes to us, at hyper speed.
Side-by-side, we race one another to copy everything down.
Some days it’s a challenge.
Some days it’s damn near impossible.
One day I turned to her after class and said:
“If I were the language police, I would give her a speeding ticket.”
I was proud of that one.
It made her smile.
That made me smile.
“You should tell her that,” she said, ever practical.
After class I have maybe 45 second to talk to her before we part ways.
Perhaps I should be getting that speeding ticket.
I wish we had more time.
Don’t we all?
Even before I found the courage to speak with her,
I watched her whenever possible, excited whenever she put her hand up.
And I’d just stare, mesmerized by her countenance and charisma,
And indeed, the cute outfits that she wears.
The lady is classy to a fault.
And her eyes light up as she speaks,
Whatever she is saying, she is completely into it.
What she says is profound, exciting.
She’s exciting.
And every time she speaks, I wonder if I could ever be this exciting to her,
Or anyone,
Or if I’ll ever even meet another woman this exciting again.
I would tell her this. I would.
I’m not afraid to share my feelings,
But I wouldn’t trade our current dealings for the world.
I’m still shaken by the memories of those women who told me I was positively creepy for being interested in them.
Somehow it doesn’t seem fair.
Why would a woman be offended by the fact that I’m interested?
I’d have to be really fucking ugly, or have some other terrible attribute, wouldn’t I?
I don’t want to lose what I have,
Which doesn’t seem like much, I know,
But I like loving her at a distance.
I can’t hurt her, she can’t hurt me,
And we can smile.
Smile.
Smile.
And then nothing.
Sweet nothing.
Then she is gone.
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3 comments:
Gosh, I could have written this (changing the she for he of course). You described your feelings so well Mal. The only thing I can say is - my brother in law died suddenly the other day. He was only 56. It brought home to me how short life is and how easily it is to lose people. Sometimes it is better to take the plunge and risk losing someone to try to gain them, rather than half living with their smile. I wish I was brave enough to take that leap.
It's funny; early in life I'd always sneered at those who would refuse to take risks, and fervently clinging to their lo-wage jobs, their pension and their mortgages when they could aspire to so much more. I find it ironic that even now, I have less than that. Nothing to lose at all, and still I take no risks. It is a very strange part of human nature, this obsession with how much worse things would be without what little one already has.
I'm very sorry about your brother-in-law. 56 is not nearly old enough.
Thanks Mal.
Sometimes I wonder am I afraid of taking risks not because I might fail but because I might succeed and the reality won't be as good as my imagination?
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