Love at Last Sight

I do not fall in love lightly.

It is irregular.

It is not gentle.

He sat,

in my second hour class,

where I wrote essays

and essays

about how unnecessary love was.

How every great fictional character goes mad

because they become attached.

He rarely spoke,

or at least,

I rarely heard him.

I was too involved in my own ego to notice.

I spoke too loud, too often

to hear anybody but myself.

Of course I had flings,

brief, exciting bursts of emotion

with boys I had known forever.

I still do not believe it was love.

They were welcome, needed

distractions.

In November, too late,

I paid attention.

I saw the way his hair curled,

saw the way his eyes shone.

He lit up when things got intellectual.

He was a genius

but would never say it on his own.

I said it for him,

to myself,

whispered among many other secret observations.

And I ignored him

for three more months.

I was young,

too young,

and he was very nearly grown.

In March, the flowers bloomed

and class resumed.

History made me dream

of a future with the man on my left.

I watched his hands as he wrote.

I’ve always loved hands.

I wanted to hold them,

but he will never know that.

He was the first boy

ever

to make me feel so many things

that even I could not keep track.

I was too nervous to tell him,

“I like your shirt,”

I walked away as soon as he said thank you.

My essays changed

from hating love

to needing it.

I wanted to read his writing,

Writing is a deeply personal thing,

I wanted to understand him.

I wanted him to read my writing.

Out of every boy I thought I loved,

he was the only one to compliment

my brain

before my body.

My comfort around people

has always been limited.

Around him,

I was myself.

Because I am a largely oblivious girl,

I did not realize that our first date

was just that.

I got home,

realized he had skipped his dad’s party

to see a movie I had seen three times before

with me.

I had never seen his face until then.

I knew his voice before I saw his mouth.

Learned his writing before I saw his nose.

We talked about life, about family,

about love

before ever discussing the weather.

I didn’t stop giggling the whole weekend.