I veered left on the wooded path and found that someone had stepped before me. Large shoe prints. It was him, I realized. He was ahead of me, waiting for me.
It made me want to walk slower–not because I didn’t want to see him but because I did. So desperately did. I knew he’d be there waiting. I love it when life works this way; when you want something and you actually get it.
I slowed my gait because I wanted to save the journey to him. Being there with him would be fantastic I knew. The hugs and kisses and all that. But it was the on-the-way their anticipation that really did it for me. Wondering, what would be wearing. A tank top? A moustache? Smelling like lime? or Musk.
The breeze tousled the fallen leaves and I crunched them.
He called out my name and dammit if I didn’t start to run for him, like a complete idiot.

It was a petal, from a blossom falling down. But I followed its fall, for it was so slow and flutter, it gave me enough time, seconds really, to reflect on how I felt about you.
Sometimes that’s all the time you need. I left the park, while other petals fell and then knocked on your door.
“You could have called or texted me,” he said.
But I didn’t want to do things that way. I wanted the old fashioned way of confronting someone, with one’s love.
So I did. And it worked.
We lived happily ever after.

I wanted to ask him on my own. But he wasn’t taking many calls or even visits. But there were some persistent people, like our mutual friend, Gary.
Gary never took no for an answer, when it came to us. He called and called, his voicemails to Steve more demanding. He knocked on Steve’s door.
Steve told him to go away. “I need to be alone.”
But Gary was persistent and broke into the house. He found Steve in the tub, naked with a empty fifth of bourbon.
Oh Steve, Gary said, attempting to pull him out of the bed.
Oh Gary, Steve said, as he squirmed through Gary’s hands. “I just want to be left alone.”
“Absolutely not,” Gary said and that, as they say, is that.

I keep grinding my teeth. Is that a thing?
I just paid 4 dollars and forty-nine cents for a can of vegetarian refried beans–is that a thing?
I want to live my life over. Is that a thing?
I don’t want to go to the Scott Joplin concert, is that a thing?
The thing is, I cannot keep asking other people about my “things.” They aren’t listening half the time anyway.

Just like you: You aren’t listening either, are you?
That’s right. You’re thinking about your things.

There is too much to consider when you want to say “Hi” or “Call me so and so.”
Taking that next extra step in breaking a barrier is such a delicate thing. Wait; a delicate barrier? Are you kidding me? If a barrier is delicate than just push it over and say “Hi, call me so and so.”
But what about their barrier? Do they have one? Most likely. This what I ask myself every time I go to the old man behind the counter. He’s cute and old and I want to be his friend, for some reason. I have friends but not him, as a friend. I want him.
“Hi,” I tell him after he gives me back my debit card. “Call me so and so.”
But he says nothing back, just grunts and gives me back my card. I don’t know what to call him.
Or to make of myself.

I looked through the window. It was a window that did not belong to me and therefore I had to look through it rather than be inside it, in the bedroom, with them.
I felt nervous, because I knew them. To watch them making love was a violation I knew. But I could see how much they loved each other. It was wrong, me watching.
But the love I watched was not.

The robins fought in the backyard. I watched from my window and hoped they would give up, forget about who was winning, and just go about their business.
But they just kept leaping into the air, their wings beating at each other, their beaks jabbing. I covered my eyes. Or rather someone covered my eyes for me.
“Stop looking,” he told me.
“Well you’ve got that taken care of,” I said.
He laughed. And took his hands from my eyes. I turned and saw peace in his eyes and on his face. It was a nice place to be, rather than looking out there.

The powers-that-be shone through the night, a beacon for us weary desk-mongerers who sifted through Outlook for shreds of hope.
Then we just rebooted ourselves. We went home, showered, ate with our families and started up again.
It’s nice when hope visits. Or when you find it hiding in your shoes. Hope has marred the dreary and desolate work–the work that never gets done.
I hope I marry hope. I really hope so.

If it rains, my dress will be ruined. But I won’t be able to get to the party. I know these items are easily solved. But sometimes I just like to sit in a problem.
And soak in it.

No one is calling you. Because no on knows you’re here.
You have to call someone to let them know where you are. Call them now.
“Hello?”
“I’m here.”
“Where?”
You hang up before telling them. Well, now, maybe they’ll call you back.
They do.
“I’m in the park.”
“I’ll come get you.”
“Thank you.”
You hang up. Your impulse is to leave the park. But you hold onto the bench, praying you don’t leave.