my eyes are searching for you in the crowd.
I can hear, rather than feel, my heart race.
I'm afraid that my thoughts are far too loud
I try to steady my quickening pace.

press one hand to my heart; one to my lips
so hard that I can't distinguish the change
between the soft pulse in my fingertips
and the one hammering in my ribcage

my vision is blurry and unfocused
and my head hung low with longing and dread
I mumble a hello you must have missed
because you stumble right past me instead

love is a tragic kind of beautiful
it's the kind you miss if you're not careful