Sunlight Through a Curtained Window

October 1, 2008

To be fair, I noticed her strawberry hair first,

as she was sitting cross-legged in a desk across the way.

Gathered we were that day to start a family.

Regardless of race, creed, wealth, or sexuality,

we came to find our individuality and to expand everything we

ever thought we knew about anything. As she stood to say her name,

the sun caught a glimpse of her face,

fair skin matching the auburn locks that gave the rays

 themselves purpose. And I couldn’t help but think

that angels do exist.

As I approached the tentative angel,

I prayed to her father that my words wouldn’t tangle.

For I’ve been known to mince the better parts of conversation

with an overabundance of one-liner stints and obvious embarrassment.

The result is always awkward and the soul train leaves the station again

with just the one passenger still aboard.

So I sit and we meet, and I immediately notice

that she looks down when she speaks. Such beauty

should not be wasted staring at her feet, when her smile

could make the sun set in the east and I wonder

how long it takes to get from earth to heaven. In time I’m sure

 that I could get an answer

but for now she remains silent,

observing this new world.

Taking careful notes on the people around her,

trying to find out if this indeed is the place her heart has found her.

And then, she leaves.

And I’m left to fill in the blanks

that she has created in my mind. I look forward to seeing her again

and I ponder the chances that our souls will entwine.

And now I’m rhyming. And I never rhyme!

But I guess infatuation takes hold and I can’t help but feel

that there is something more to this being than first impressions.

Maybe she thinks just like me. Maybe she is wondering

about the guy who sat across from her and noticed

the deep and endless ocean found just beyond the reflection of her eyes.

Maybe she writes in the dark

because that is the only place where she can see

the brightest parts of her soul pouring out

onto page after page.

And time would stop in orderly fashion.

I would look to the ocean in her eyes and see myself staring back at me

through years of disenchanted love affairs. As our bodies move in sync,

we would notice the tiny imperfections of our hearts reflected in our gaze.

And I find that the most beautiful part is not knowing.

I’m lost in the thought of what could be. The hypothetical expression of thought transcending reality in order to alleviate the loneliness. And I’m wondering when I’ll see her again.

 I’m wondering if my thoughts are enough to express my intrigue.

I’m wondering if, if, and if.

And the bittersweet symphony of it sings in the thought that angels do exist.

And if I have found one, then please, don’t let this be a dream.

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