She Is Daydreaming About Other Things Than Class
She stares out the window
at the bare limbs of the maple,
at the gray clouds gathering
like a secret no one will share.
He sits two rows over,
leaning back, his sleeve rolled up,
laughing at something
I will never hear,
looking at someone else,
someone whose name I don’t even know.
I imagine her hair,
gold light spilling from the top of her head,
her eyes half-lidded,
the curve of her lips when she smiles—
and I wonder if he sees me at all,
or if he even notices me
shrinking in my seat,
hands folded, invisible to all but me.
Facebook is full of whispers:
“Did you see him yesterday?”
“They think she’s the one.”
I scroll past the glowing rectangles,
heart hammering,
knowing my own name
is never typed there,
my face never tagged,
my longing unread.
My eyes stare straight ahead of me.
And yet—
I have him, here, in my chest,
a quiet drumbeat he will never hear,
a small, fierce warmth
that keeps me awake all night.
even while he looks away,
even while she smiles.
I can't think such thoughts about him now.
That I will regret, he loves someone else and I now know that nothing's coming next.
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