Listening to the monotonous droning of the professor's voice
Going on and on becoming white noise
My eyelids growing heavy, like I'm trying to support the sky with my two hands
Vision becoming blurry as I glance around the room
To see your eyes meet mine
Those brown ones so fine
A little shy as we tread this fine line
Where we are on two ends with arms outstretched
Yet not too sure if our intentions matched
I could feel the heat rushing to my cheeks
On this morning at ten thirty
The professor goes on and on but all I see is you
Smiling at me in a seminar room