July 9, 2011
Wind rustles my hair and the pages of my book turned. I sit up and see you, sketching a picture of the man with the guitar at the other side of the park.
You speak to me, though I do not know what you say. Your smile entices me and hypnotizes me. I reciprocate the expression, a cheeky grin on my face.
You puzzle me, you know. You are a conundrum, an enigma, a riddle. How can a human being be so deep? You amaze me. So many pieces, all fit together perfectly.
You are perfect. The way each hair curls, your big brown eyes, even you ears that stick our further than you would like then to. Looking at you makes my heart hurt.
We have never been so close. Laying next to you with a book in my hand, falling asleep, I can feel you breathing.
We're so close, but so far.
The rhythm sends me into a trance.
I open my eyes to see your chest, rising and falling. I have never seen anything more magical- beautiful, even- than watching you breathe.
But my heart wrenches when I see you breathe.
I can feel your arm next to mine. You are stretched out like a log, I am curled into a ball. You must be able to hear my heart thumping- we are close, it is quiet.
If only we could stay here forever, stay so close we begin to breathe together. But it is time, we must leave.
We sit up, look around. There are a million people in this park, but for an afternoon, it was just me and you.
But it is never just me and you. We cannot be “me and you,” because it is “you and her.”
So I take the afternoon we had together and I pretend. Someday I will tell you that it should be me and you.
For now, I will try to fit your puzzle together.

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