His words

I watch as the feral winds

blow through her mousy hair.

I watch as she stubbornly

tries to keep it in place,

but not for vanity’s sake.

She likes to feel the wind on her bare face.

I know this because

as it hits her,

she closes her eyes

and the corners of her mouth smile.

I don’t know why I noticed.

Some days I watch her

as she walks between the boxes in the aisles

on her way to and from

the office door.

Only a glimpse now and then,

nothing more.

But she brightens my day.

Sometimes she’ll smile

or wave if she can,

and in that grin

or the flick of her hand

I catch sight of what could be beauty.

Sometimes she passes quickly,

disturbs the dust in the air with her speed

and even then, out of the corner of her eye,

I think she is looking at me.

Sometimes I eat lunch with her

in my car.

She seems to seek me out.

Once she told me

I was her favorite person.

I don’t know why she said it.

She’s not a pretty girl.

She’s not the girl you dream of, that’s for sure.

But she’s kind and she’s funny.

She’s generous and laughs easily,

and always tries to make everyone smile.

There’s something about her.

I don’t know what it is.

I find myself looking at her,

really looking, more and more.

And when talks,

I wait impatiently

for her to look into my eyes.

I stare at those kind eyes :

not brown, not green

and with an odd fleck of black

in only one.

I don’t know why I know that.

And when she laughs, I laugh too.

Or smile at the crazy things she says.

I don’t know anyone like her.

She’s so plain.

I can’t seem to get her out of my mind.

3 thoughts on “His words

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s