Do I Know You
Do I know you?
No.
You don’t know me.
How can you when I don’t know myself?
You know
that I’m wearing glasses
and have a pimple on my cheek.
You know
that I smile at the end of your sentences
but don’t know that I’m not really listening,
only hearing your
pauses.
You know
that I give a thumbs-up
when you approve of something you just said
that you thought
was profound,
but you don’t know
that I was just following your lead.
You don’t know
how much I hate parties
because of the social pressure
of trying to connect with someone
through all the noise
and provide the right social cues
based on what I’m observing and not
what I’m learning about you since small talk
holds no substance.
You don’t know
that while I nod at your empty statements,
I’m looking to escape
around that corner
or down that
hallway
or during your sigh.
But most importantly, you don’t know
how much I long to know you, but in some other place,
a quieter, softer place, a place less pretentious outside this speed-dating
venue.
You don’t know
that I’d love to know you
so that I can better know myself.
You ask, ‘Should we get together again?’
And I say, ‘Why?’
You shrug,
your smile crooked
and unsure. ‘I want to know you better.’
I smile.
Nod.
Say, ‘So do I,’
and wonder if you know
who I’m talking about.
Copyright © Jenny Morelli | Year Posted 2024
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