AT THE LIBRARY WITH HER
A faint ache
curling in my stomach
echoes the old anxiety
of our final project.
A child bursts with noise.
His mother hushes him gently.
Noisy children stress you out.
I find myself wondering.
If children
will ever be part
of our story.
AT THE LIBRARY WITH HIM
On the final day of submissions,
I hurry to the library,
not driven by ambition,
but by the quiet desire
to be where you are.
While you sit there, focused,
lost in our final project,
my eyes wander
to the elderly couple
reading quietly in the corner.
The woman reads poems softly,
while the man watches her
with a kind of love
that needs no words.
And I wonder,
could that one day be us?
years from now,
still side by side,
still looking at each other
like poetry.