Wishful Thinking

You made it a point to see me. I only met you once, only saw you once, but there was something there. You shook my hand, cordial as could be. To the unseeing eye, it would have looked normal. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just two people meeting for the first time.

But that glint in your eye and the sweet tension in my muscles told me otherwise. Your eyes lingered just a bit too long. They looked a bit too deep into me.

Like a lazy river the conversation flowed easily. We talked of drinking unusual wines in exotic places that we had been, all the while thinking it would have been so much better to do it with you. That smile stretched to your ears and created lines by your eyes. I found myself mirroring it; it was infectious.

Our time spent was much too short, but enough to light a match in my cold soul. I hopped on a plane and unwillingly flew north, miles away from you.

Some months later I saw you again, for the second time. I gave you every out, and yet, you made the effort to come see me. And there was that spark again, reigniting the flame. I could have sworn you felt it, too.

But here I wait. Waiting for a call? A letter? You to show up on my doorstep?

All of that is just wishful thinking. You are miles away, but the world is so small today. I can at least wish for that fire to come back soon due to the closeness of you.

man in pink sport shirt sitting on brown chair beside glass window
Photo by Skitterphoto on Pexels.com

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