For some reason I have a thing for guys

of blue or brown eyes and of dark colored hair.

And there’s a silence in the way our gaze meets from across the room, the way our clothing drapes, our bodies stir on fragile air.

And as I blush, collecting my feelings

into something I can hold and carry before it melts,

I’ve come to love the burn of ice against my skin,

the way it drips, tapping my toes rows nervously rolling as he looks my way again.

The feeling you get someplace in your chest, this fluttering feeling when you have a crush, I live in it. And moments feel like hours that I feel like I could float up and grab the little hearts glowing red in their eagerness, waiting for the touch of warm embrace.

There’s something in those doe like eyes that scream of spring, and something that drifts like autumn leaves and pumpkin spice that warms the body longing for respite in his knitted sleeves.

And those scuff marked shoes he hid so well before their tapping.

Maybe all it takes is a word, a gesture, a parting gift, words that bring us closer. But I find myself stunted with nothing to say that could truly express how I’m feeling for him. And maybe if I can’t put on that sweater built of courage there’s no future for us here.

But I think that words come with time and open space. And that flowers can bloom from soft broken soil. And that memories are made from a beginning no matter how rough its edge is torn. And that that sudden skip of a beat keeps on beating and bleeding until the headwaters calm.

Maybe fall is when I spring into his arms?