the date
I don’t want sympathy. I want a deadpan facial response. I want answers that can be conveyed in three syllables or less. I don’t know. I like you. I want to fumble and drop things adorably at your feet. I want the poems of Sylvia Plath to narrowly miss your toes. Giggle. I want us to not-quite make eye contact when we talk to each other. We will struggle and there will be gaps in the conversation. Jokes about something cute, like cats. I won’t ask you about food and music. What is important to you? I want you to take my number and put it into your pocket next to your coins and your keys. I will feel a sense of accomplishment and celebrate by going home and doing nothing. You will have my number but you won’t call it and I will be forced to spend long hours on Facebook typing your first name and searching through the local network. I hope you’re not from out of town. Eventually I will find you and send you a message and eventually after a considerable period you will reply and say you lost my number in your pocket with your coins and your keys. I will say ‘ok’. You will say ‘would you like to meet for coffee or something?’ I will say yes and then I will probably picture you without your clothes on but I won’t tell you that. I want you to think that I am not a weirdo so you will meet me for coffee so I can picture you without your clothes on. I meet you in a coffee shop. I buy the drinks myself but am thankful for your half-hearted protests. We sit down at a table with a menu and two chairs. My palms are damp. I am probably not a weirdo. I pick up the menu but don’t read it. I know that I need to say something witty and charming in approximately ten seconds time or you will finish your drink in approximately ten minutes time and make a hurried excuse to leave. Instead I sit there smiling at you because all I can think of to do is look at you just-below-the-eye and say, “from the moment I saw you I have been in love with you.” I smile. You smile. We are sitting at a table smiling at each other not saying anything. Say something. We don’t say anything. I want you to hold my hand and say ‘it’s ok. I know.’ I want to exhale dramatically and say ‘phew. I’m glad that’s out of the way.’ I don’t want to see your eyes snake under your shirt sleeve searching for your watch. I don’t want to know that you’d rather be somewhere else. I sip my coffee. I smile.
I don’t want sympathy. I want a deadpan facial response. I want answers that can be conveyed in three syllables or less. I don’t know. I like you. I want to fumble and drop things adorably at your feet. I want the poems of Sylvia Plath to narrowly miss your toes. Giggle. I want us to not-quite make eye contact when we talk to each other. We will struggle and there will be gaps in the conversation. Jokes about something cute, like cats. I won’t ask you about food and music. What is important to you? I want you to take my number and put it into your pocket next to your coins and your keys. I will feel a sense of accomplishment and celebrate by going home and doing nothing. You will have my number but you won’t call it and I will be forced to spend long hours on Facebook typing your first name and searching through the local network. I hope you’re not from out of town. Eventually I will find you and send you a message and eventually after a considerable period you will reply and say you lost my number in your pocket with your coins and your keys. I will say ‘ok’. You will say ‘would you like to meet for coffee or something?’ I will say yes and then I will probably picture you without your clothes on but I won’t tell you that. I want you to think that I am not a weirdo so you will meet me for coffee so I can picture you without your clothes on. I meet you in a coffee shop. I buy the drinks myself but am thankful for your half-hearted protests. We sit down at a table with a menu and two chairs. My palms are damp. I am probably not a weirdo. I pick up the menu but don’t read it. I know that I need to say something witty and charming in approximately ten seconds time or you will finish your drink in approximately ten minutes time and make a hurried excuse to leave. Instead I sit there smiling at you because all I can think of to do is look at you just-below-the-eye and say, “from the moment I saw you I have been in love with you.” I smile. You smile. We are sitting at a table smiling at each other not saying anything. Say something. We don’t say anything. I want you to hold my hand and say ‘it’s ok. I know.’ I want to exhale dramatically and say ‘phew. I’m glad that’s out of the way.’ I don’t want to see your eyes snake under your shirt sleeve searching for your watch. I don’t want to know that you’d rather be somewhere else. I sip my coffee. I smile.
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