On Meeting

I feel awkward.
At least we’re in a group.
I smile, a lot. I look into your eyes.
Try to find a hint of what you see and what you think.
I worry. I’ve rehearsed these moments in my head.
Though I never feel the comfort I’ve foolishly practiced.
You have pretty eyes. Nice hair. I like the curls.

“i’m matt nice to meet you too nice weather this place is lively.”

I make some jokes. Good thing it’s not one on one.
No cracks in the facade. This is tough.
There. I got a smile. And a retort.
You cross your arms, seemingly as nervous.
I look off in the distance. Look back at you. Look at our friends.
We all talk about things, drink.
We look at eachother. Look away.
You don’t smile much. I smile too much.
Most of the time is a blur.
I fill the space with jokes and a nervous laugh.
I look at my watch and you get up to go.

“Nice meeting you. You too.”

Hope to see you again soon I think, but don’t say.
I watch you leave. Questions fill the empty space.
Was I obnoxious? Will I see you again? Were you interested?
No answers, just worries.

Advertisement