Impatient Wanderer

You sat next to me. Introduction. "What's you're name," I ask. And I don't remember it because I'm too busy trying to stay cool.
Small talk. I liked your eyes.
We listen to the first lecture of our class.
Your body turns toward me, and say something I don't hear, but I smile anyway. Don't want to break this connection.
You're reserved, a little closed off. I want to break the shell.

Days, weeks. We're still on small talk. About the class really.
I realize you're good at this stuff. I like the way you think.

Now, we don't sit next to each other in class.
Some times we barely acknowledge each other.
Well, you barely acknowledge me.
You're still reserved.
Stoic.
Yet am I slightly breaking your shell?
I can't tell.
And I'm impatient.
I don't want to wait another day. Another week. I should've gotten your number from the start.
We can study together.
Now I don't know how.
We'll get there.
Maybe.

Maybe you don't want anything to do with me.
Maybe it was all in my head.
Maybe I just like the challenge.

Either way, I'm an impatient wanderer, hoping for something to happen.
I want too much from nothing because I never know what something means.
I float from woeful wishes, faces I do not know, waiting for my heartbeat to relax. Slow down. It should just happen. It shouldn't be so hard.

Floating is fun anyway. You see different sights, colors, textures, tastes, and do not know where you'll anchor. But I'd like to know...I am impatient.  I am done waiting for the right sound, time, place, smile. I want it to happen now. I want to be warmed by his voice. To throw on his oversized jacket. I want to press my lips against his and experience a lapse of mind, time, space, feeling-- all coinciding into one, this one fragile movement, this one promise of togetherness in a single kiss.

These are the thoughts of an impatient wanderer.

A letter

Dear You,

I admit it. I was never good at this love thing. The vulnerability.
And I'm sorry if I messed with your emotions, if I went hot then cold, and never seemed to be fully interested. I never thought of it as a game, I was never playing. I was simply a naive girl whose heart raced when you came around, who thought you'd understand my smile. I thought it would all eventually happen, fall into place without me having to work for it... because you would. I'm sorry for being a coward, for doubting every kind intention and envying everyone else you talked to. I'm sorry I couldn't be the bold girl who'd rock your world and make life easy.
I just barely believed it true, me and you, because who am I anyway. Who am I to catch your attention? I'm nothing special, just a goofy gal with crazy dreams. I don't have a fun life, no extensive knowledge of movies or tv shows, nothing. But you, you're all of that and you've snatched your dream, so why me. Now? What's the point. I'm sorry for barely believing in any of this. I'm sorry we'll never enjoy what could have happened, left to forever wonder what if.
I'm sorry, sorry, sorry. Sorry for confusing you, ignoring you, hurting you. A million excuses cannot deny the truth. I was too passive. I didn't try enough. I messed up. And now, that initial spark is gone.

So let's stop ruining each others day. Agreed?
Cheers to the end of a non-existent, barely formed relationship.
Amidst all of the emotions, there must be some damn lesson to be learned. For now, I can't stop thinking I wish I knew you better. I wish I could have held you, with the reassurance of some mutual understanding. I wish I could have called you mine.

So long to those fantasies, it's time to face reality. You're not and will never be mine.
Just promise me one thing. When you're out there making history, falling in love, and being an overall amazing person, remember us and laugh. Two silly teenagers unable to figure this love thing out. It's rather humorous, in some bittersweet way.

Sincerely,
Anonymous

Mannequin

A shadow in the headlight. A presence you barely know. But somehow his aura entices, invites, and strangles until you only have a blazing fire left. And you only have the two phrases, or looks, or imagination to fuel that fragile flame. But it is a flame nonetheless, and you keep it tucked inside the depths of your heart. So is the way of meaningless lust and far fetched fantasies that confiscate our being. Maybe it was his eyes, or his shoulders. Maybe it was the way he walked, or how he looked at you as if you were a somebody. 

So run. Run away from the shadow. Do not let the fire consume your entity, do not get burned before you even feel the warmth. Do not let the sparks confuse you. They are only lost bits of the fire, not awakened stars. 

And you, you are only the fleeting bluejay that once passed his path. 

A presence he never knew.