The One You'll Never Read
8.
That's the number that flashed on your jersey as you carried yourself across the court.
I knew everyone in the stands were watching the game, getting louder as you passed the ball swiftly to number 4 on your team.
Silence suddenly fell over the gymnasium.
"Foul on 22 grey, hold--two shots." the ref said, signaling to the Table where I sat keeping score.
I recorded what she had said, because it was my job.
Yet, I wasn't focused on the game...
I was more focused on you.
The way your golden hair blanketed itself across your shoulders, the way your blue eyes focused so intently on the game--the way you smiled when you made a shot and ran back across center.
I couldn't keep my eyes off you--and though the gym was hot, I got chills as I watched.
The buzzer awoke me from my daydream and told me the game was over, but for some reason I knew the number on your jersey wasn't the only one I had to have.
We're talking now.
And you're..
Something else.
For some reason,
I feel like fate brought us together--as stupid as that sounds.
And for some reason, I'm glad I was forced to score keep that night.
You'll never read this, and to me, that's a score.
[em]
YOU ARE READING
Blind Poets
PoesiaPoetry for those who find both comfort and discomfort in the dark. - Em Instagram: @em.g_4 WARNING This book includes references to sensitive topics such as suicide, depression, struggles with mental health and so on.
