The meeting is arranged by phone and text,
I'll wear that red sweater so you'll know it's me,
I'll be in the corner,
Watching the door,
I'll get there early,
With hopes of steeling up some jittery nerves,
With hopes of a handsome face leading the way for a handsome soul,
Coming to this place tonight to meet me.
I'll forget my own name when you approach my table,
I'll be embarrassed by my lack of charm,
That will set the tone for the whole encounter,
Or so, I will think,
But you will find me charming despite this,
And you will try to make me comfortable.
We will ask each other the standard questions,
Where do you work?
Do you like it?
Where are from?
Family?
And I'll tell you too much,
And I'll regret that for sure.
But you don't think I talk too much,
You are happy to listen,
You seem really interested.
But then it's getting late and it seems we should go,
You say it was nice to meet me,
My heart skips a beat,
Does that mean you will ask to see me again?
Did I really pull this off?
Did I really just meet someone who might want to see me again?
No. I didn't.
You walk me to my car and say thanks for the conversation.
You give me that awkward hug.
My nerves are on fire,
and my face I'm sure is bright red.
You say, "I'll see you around. Goodnight."
I get in my car and I collapse in tears.
I said too much.
I revealed how nervous I was,
It wasn't charming.
I wipe my face and pull out into traffic.
I don't see you looking back.
I don't see anything.
I don't see the 18 wheeler with it's lights off.
I don't see the look of horror on the drivers face as he realizes we are about to impact.
I don't see him and I don't see you.
And I don't see anything ever again.
(all rights reserved. Sharlene)
