just a whisper's distance away
close enough to touch
cold hands on warm cheeks, i pretend not to look
i keep on talking because i'm afraid that if it's too quiet, you could hear my thoughts

fingers tapping restlessly on hardwood surfaces
obscuring the percussion thumping in my chest
my stomach doesn't just flutter - it flies away
breathless

waiting
on the edge of a metal bench
running over the script i never quite follow
pretending i could ever have any semblance of confidence

my legs are shaking and the idea shatters, glass on the floor barely heard over the sound of my

nervous laughter.