If Only

"Boss Ass Pen"

"Random spirits colliding in space 

Or is it fate? 

Just meaningless interactions caused by my own stupidity

Or does it all mean something? 

Meant to be with him 

Or meant to be in a psych ward?"

I scratched on my paper, underlining the last two words a few too many times.

Romantic poetry. Suspending logical reasoning in order to wonderfully imagine a fantastic happiness. It's so easy to get swept away by emotion. But how could I? How am I supposed to write a romantic poem not about Ian? How am I supposed to write a poem about intense emotions not about Ian? And how the hell am I supposed to suspend logical reasoning when my fantasy is to be with my boss whose twice my age? All I'm trying to do is keep my head on straight through whatever the hell is going on in my life, and my English teacher wants me to goddamn fantasize?

Fuck English. Fuck Mrs. Lee. Who is she to talk about fantasy? She's already married.

I crumpled the paper in my hand. I felt like I was going insane.

"What are you writing about?" Mrs. Lee knelt next to me.

Startled, "oh, you know, just dumb stuff."

"Nothing is dumb in this world," she pointed to my paper ball, "the world in which you are writing."

I turned away from her in an attempt to hide my rolling eyes.

She took a moment, "with what exactly are you struggling?"

"I just feel like being grounded in reality is an important skill, -- not that I exactly have it -- and if I lose myself in a fantasy, it'll be hard to come back."

"This poetry is not about losing yourself in a fantasy per se. It is about admitting to yourself the feelings you already have toward something or someone that you may have dismissed because you thought that they would only be practical in a fantastical world."

I shifted in my seat. "That was really well-said. Thank you, Mrs. Lee."

She nodded her head before going back to her own desk.

I took out a new piece of paper. Admit to myself the feelings I already have. That wasn't much easier. 

After the class was over, having made no progress on the poem, I headed to my math class. I could admit to myself my feelings about math: it sucks. There, was that so hard? 

I sighed to myself. At least I had the weekend to work on it. 

A hand on my shoulder. "Kate."

I turned my head to the left, "Carter."

"I haven't seen you in a few weeks. Since the grocery store."

His hand was still on my shoulder.

I stopped in front of Mr. Crego's door, "yeah, well, you haven't been at the office."

"Right." He smiled charmingly, "we should get together sometime. I missed you."

As I nodded, he brought his hand down from my shoulder, gliding his fingertips across my waist as he turned to leave. 

He was good at that. Leaving a lasting memory by ending a short conversation with a not-so-innocently-accidental touch.

***

"Guess what?" I smiled, opening the door to Ian's office.

He leaned back in his black leather chair, his expression quickly matching mine, "what?"