& I'm breathless from all the things I've done today when I see you, and it's not that you take my breath away, you make me realize how good it feels to just breathe. and for a moment, all the other things I'm supposed to do don't matter: not the neat piles of black and white paper, (in whose sheaves contain blood, sweat, tears and raw emotion); not the animated conversations I've left hanging (in whose depths I thought I drowned myself in), not even the sharp buzz of the phone in my bag, (in which voices from the other side impatiently wait for me to reply). It's just you, and I drink you in. I lean over to hug you, and when I do, it's like I instantly want to get lost in your arms (in this moment, who cares if I never find my way back?), but I'm just too sensible (so cursedly sensible) and I let go, knowing that behind us are people (oh-so-curious people) and we don't want them to talk (miring down their conversations with sharp edges of gossip and painful pricks of speculation). You walk away, to leave, and you might not see me (my lingering eyes following your retreating back) and for a moment, I think. (to hell with propriety) I want to run and say the words I usually have the sense not to tell you (or rarely have the courage to): Let's make so much more memories; I have no idea why; but you make me so happy; I think I love you?, the last three words reverberating endlessly in my mind (I love you? I love you? I love you?). But then, my phone impatiently buzzes again. I turn away, and click it open. "Hello, yes, I'm here already."
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