The lunch table is a lot more crowded than it usually is.
He sits there, his voice droning on,
the lethal combination of his pitch and volume drowning out those around him.
He makes a joke.
It's not that funny.
The punchline is lost on me
and the execution was botched
I watch as his eyes dart to hers once the pathetic attempt at humor escapes his lips.
The corners of his eyes crinkle ever so slightly as he awaits her reaction, his nose twitching
I recall how my grandma told me that a nose twitch is a good omen that brings true love.
His teeth tear at the corner of his lip as he attempts to crack his knuckles again.
He had already cracked them about 73 seconds prior.
I hold myself back from telling him that it takes knuckles about twenty minutes to fully reset, and that he will find no satisfaction in the desperate contorting of his fingers.
His eyes linger on hers,
pale forest green pools of desperation swirling in his eyes,
dark brown dashes of anticipation making the water murky.
She smiles,
An ephemeral squeal of laughter escaping her rosy lips
followed by a series of giggles.
His smile is blinding as he witnesses her laugh,
and I watch as his knuckles all erupt in song and dance somehow defying the odds and cracking despite the time crunch
the corners of his eyes burst at the seams with multicolored confetti scattered everywhere in the form of faint freckles splattered across his cheekbone
the remnants of the skin on his lip are bitten again abruptly in a lousy attempt to mute the roaring cheers coming from the blinding smile he is so desperately trying to mask
and his overly animated eyes run in chaotic circles of glee as they search for anywhere to look except for her dark ember brown eyes with discernible flecks of emerald if you look closely
his fingers crossed that she won't see his palpable excitement
The joke really wasn't that funny
but even my normally unimpressed expression twitches,
my one dimple making a fleeting appearance,
as I watch the exchange
thankful that humor is subjective.
YOU ARE READING
paradoxical
Poetryyears worth of teenage and young adult angst transferred from a ratty old notebook to this app --for anyone who also feels like everything they do contradicts the personality that they desire to be perceived as
