When we met, I barely gave you a glance over, but five minutes past the door, I saw you in full light and was hooked.
It could have been your laugh or the smile that followed. It was more likely that in you, I saw everything I wanted in me.
You are all beauty and presence. Before you, I am struck nervous and uncertain and overwhelmed at once. I am fumbling for the right words, the right gestures, the right expressions to convey my interest without betraying my lust. And you are too too beautiful, too perfectly obliging, too innocuously affectionate for me to think that you could possibly realize your effect. I don’t know how to tell you but you terrify me in the same instance you awe me.
And even when you speak to my face, I can barely look you in the eye. If this isn’t love at first sight, if this isn’t the pull of unrequited passion, then I don’t know what is. Because you have warmed something deep and untouched within my chest and all I can do is wonder about the nature of your intentions.
“So how many hearts did you break this week?” someone asked me tonight. I think I will allow myself the silly luxury of entertaining the notion of our romantic possibility, and I answer, “Maybe just my own.”