you and i were always just one second window glance away and i avert my eyes too fast and you always pretend you didn't see me. later on you'll tell your friends like I will tell mine that we saw each other, then they'll ask what we talked about and we'll always laugh it off with a wave of a hand we didn't share when our eyes met. At night, we'll toss and we'll turn and that one second glance will play like a broken record inside our heads, stopping us from sleeping, weighing down our stomachs as the heaviness of regret and disappointment settle in. "I wish I was braver," you sigh to yourself. "I wish I said Hi," I whispered against the sheet. Then we'll try to sleep but we won't until the clock blares 4am. We'll wake up groggy, unsettled, wishing that simple, unimportant one second window glance wasn't just a fleeting moment neither of us anticipated would gnaw us inside out. But it does and it's there and the eyes of the other will continue to be engraved inside our memory, sadly, as only a memory.