She’s got a hole on the topside of her right Nike shoe
Pink, black, white patterns ruined by her bony toe
Does she know
She’s not wearing socks?

Hair callously thrown into a disgraceful bun
Wetted from sweat or shower
I’ll never know.

Screensaver sepia toned
And donned in the center
Is a lover, perhaps,
Kissing her laughing cheek.

She’s more organized than me,
Dutifully taking notes
And yearning, craving for the professors
Pleasant spew of factual ****

She records his words
I record my thoughts
Who’s the more selfish one?
This stranger sitting diagonally in front of me
With her pink ears and lightly freckled face,
Or myself
Because I don’t even want to know her name.

Her world will forever remain a place
Untainted by myself
(Lucky her).
She’ll remain a mystery, an enigma
Stories that define who she is
Left for assumption and infinity.

She’ll never know I’m thinking
Only of her
And for absolutely no purpose
Other than practicing
Observing the small glimpses
Of people’s lives they offer you
Unknowingly