The wind was tentatively nipping at my skin.
during the car ride in sunny California.
My hand hung outside the window,
which held the ring that I gazed upon;
along with the semi-colon that is inked
upon my wrist.
The scenery changed behind my hand,
but my eyes did not set on anything
besides my hand in the wind of the window.
Until we pulled in.
I looked up and saw the eyes that stared upon me.
I looked away quickly, focusing my eyes on my hand.
I felt the stare.
I felt yeux.
I glanced and then saw the car drive away.
I tried to keep it in afterward.
The small bit of confrontation after a year.
I let out a sound-
it was between a scream and a choke-
with a word following after to cover up.
The car halted to stop,
the driver asking me
what the hell is wrong.
I stayed silent.
I acted so stupidly.
If I was right-
though it was only a glance-
those eyes were not yours.
They were chocolate,
warm enough to melt someone;
sturdy enough to break with pressure.
Although, yours were an ocean that
could be calm enough to let me
bathe in, to swim in, and to let me
become adjusted in security:
but chaotic enough to swallow me whole;
bang me up against the tide and leave me
Inviting, captivating, dangerous, *****.
But it looked like you...
did it not?
Was I seeing you for you and I imagined
those eyes the wrong color.
or was it an illusion made by my mind
after working in the sun for a while?
I won't know.
I don't know.
I can't know.
Was it you?
It's 10:00 pm.
I should go to bed.
I have class then work.
I should just forget.
In the moonlight that seeps
into my window for my
room to be illuminated,
I stare at my hand upon the ring.
That shines along with the
the mystery of the boy
who made me scream.
Was it you?
Please tell me, I murmur,
for the man in the moon.
My worst story on here.
No wonder no one sees my poems.