She looks to the side. He stares toward the door. She sneaks a peak of his face, longing that he would look at her too. He wonders if it would be as awkward as it feels to look at her. They converse with phones in hand wishing to feel connected. It's been weeks. Should they swipe again? She loses her phone, his has been stolen. They make eye contact in the hall. His eyes are like warm caramel. Hers are like a forest in the spring with hints of yellow. They wonder what this feeling of excitement is. He sees me. She smiles at him. They wonder if this could be more than eye contact.
YOU ARE READING
A Restless Mind
PoesiaA cluster of poems and thoughts from a mind that never seems to stop.
