A poem is the way heart speaks to mind

I saw her. Blue dress and pink shoes, walking the narrow street. She gave me a weak smile, too weak to be distinguishable. I waved at her, but she gave me no response. I knew what she was going through. I understood.

It had been one cold winter. Gusty winds and cold sleet were the highlights of the days. She wanted to be optimistic — to believe that it wasn’t going to end like this.

She recalled her interview with him. Blue eyes and long lashes. That’s all she noticed. Did he notice? The look of wonder and awe in her eyes. The way she blushed when he turned the pages? Her nerves making her shake.

It was the man she had dreamed of her entire life. He was bold with a golden tan. He was brave with a heart of gold. She wanted to work with him. But she was afraid of what it might do to her.

Thoughts of what could be made her tremble. She ached for his approval — his acceptance. If only there was a way to tell him everything else that wasn’t on that paper.

But he hadn’t called. He said he would get in touch. Why hadn’t he? Did he think she wasn’t good enough? What he thought mattered more than the reality. She knew she was a catch. Everybody told her so. Why did he need him to believe it?

A thirst. A desire. More of her wanted to be approved. Would he fill that need? Would he?

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