I tap my fingers impatiently against the counter.
The time is ticking away.
Where is she?
Where is she?
Will she even come?
My eyes are fixated on the door.
My ears alert in anticipation
Of the familiar sound of the swinging doors.
Why isn't she here yet?
She's never so late.
The wait is killing me.
The silence suffocating me.
There's a thud on the counter.
And then there's the creak of the door.
My eyes fly to the doors
And there she is.
Her eyes meet mine.
They hold some doubt, some hesitation.
Then she looks away,
And it's as if the entire world around us
Has ceased to exist.
Then she's walking towards me,
Sending shivers down my spine.
I can feel my heart pounding against my chest.
I can feel my stomach churning.
She stops at the counter,
Then bends her head low,
Her hair forming a curtain,
That my hand itches to push away.
She finally throws her head back,
Her angelic face now in full view.
But even as I beg, I pray,
She won't look back at me.
She keeps mum, as she throws a book on the counter.
And without a word, turns away,
Returning to her favorite bookshelf,
With another piece of my heart, torn away.
YOU ARE READING
Him & Her
PoetryHe is in love with her. She is in love with him. Their problem? She can't speak. He doesn't know if he can wait. But they both want a happy ending. Badly. A love that was mute, unspoken, but deep, all the same. It's not complicated. Unless you're...
