Jaw clenched tight, almost painfully.
Watching the door, I caught your glance.
Managed to drape a smile upon my face.
Those 20 steps you took to reach me.
That feeling in the deep pit of my stomach.
It never subsided. It will never calm.
The feeling of immense anticipation.
Jumping off a cliff. No parachute.
Taking your seat opposite me.
Nervous laughs, small talk.
Edamame and Riesling.
Tense muscles tore through my body.
You wore a braid consciously.
Almost spitefully. Almost dangerously.
Dumbfounded at your beauty,
I swung at your wine glass. It was mocking me.
The night progressed. I felt more at ease.
Heart pacing faster than a failed trapeze.
Finished up our meals, we entered the cold night.
Frigid air graced our cheeks.
Finding ourselves inside a local bar.
Curiously attracted to the curious brews.
Conversation became much more organic.
Flowing as efficient as the drafts.
Sneaking peeks at you in the mirror.
Wondering what thoughts reside inside you.
I couldn't have possibly left a great impression.
Nevertheless, you wore that Riesling with pride.
-
A month melted. It cannot possibly be just that.
For years, I've had these butterflies trapped.
Just for you.