This is something I wrote in college.


You’re quieter than my thoughts, as far as I know. I might be wrong, but I don’t know since we haven’t talked much. You said my name correctly once; I mispronounced yours in front of you. There wasn’t time for you to correct me. Now, all I feel is my head spinning at the thought of your sunfire hair. I don’t know what I would say if I had one more chance to talk to you. I don’t know what it would be like to have one deep conversation with you. I don’t know what your next word would be: maybe my name, maybe “hello.” I don’t know if I’d look like I do now: red-faced, tear-stained, no makeup. I hope the difference from the first time I saw you wouldn’t make a difference to you. I hope a slight change in mood wouldn’t kill your mood. I know, I still wouldn’t always be in a good mood. I know, my vision wouldn’t be exactly right. But I’d still keep an open mind and accept reality, hoping that you’ll do the same.