I look for his face in the crowded street, my heart races when our eyes meet.
He's not handsome but he's not loud, his face is gentle and oh so proud.
Sometimes I see him sitting in the café, having a coffee or a frappe.
I don't know his name and neither he mine, but we've known each other for a long time.
Our words are unspoken, and no dreams are broken.
How I wished for the courage to speak, to call his name and not seem so meek.
What excuse can I make to pass by him, what could I say without seeming dim?
Or why doesn't he take the plunge and say, "Hello, how are you today?"
"Can I buy you coffee or we can go for a walk, somewhere we can hear ourselves talk."
"I've seen you here a few times now and wanted to come over but wasn't sure how."
In my mind I thought that's how it might go, but sadly no it wasn't so.
The conversations in my head, lingered there all unsaid.
And so we remain silent and numb, no exchange of words, no feelings of wrong.
He drinks his coffee, I sip my tea, knowing this might never be.
He gets up to go and looks my way, and for a moment he makes my day.
This feeling of utter bliss, reminds me of a lover's kiss.
Tomorrow we might meet again but until then he's my unknown friend.
YOU ARE READING
My Poetry Collection
Poetry'And as imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing A local habitation and a name.' ~ William Shakespeare
