Poet

I. five minutes can make a world break

“What’s the time?”

He glanced at his watch. “Five thirty.”

“No, it’s not.” She pulled out her own watch from a pocket. “It’s five thirty-five.”

“What’s the difference? It’s only five minutes.” His eyebrow was raised.

“Five minutes can make all the difference in the world.” She turned away.

“Wait. Why did you ask me the time if you have a watch?” Confusion muddled his expression.

“’Cause I like your hat.” She started to walk away.

His hand reached up to touch his head. He wasn’t wearing a hat.

He wanted to ask more questions but by then, she was gone.

II. sixty seconds can deliver a death

“You again.”

He looked up, surprised. “Oh. Following me now? Didn’t know five minutes meant so much to you.”

“I should be asking you if you’re following me.” Her hand ran through her hair.

“Why?” He folded his arms and leaned back in his chair.

She didn’t answer. A moment passed and then she said, “That’s sixty seconds, you know.”

“Sixty seconds?” Confused again. There was more to this girl than he knew.

“Sixty seconds. So much can happen in sixty seconds…” Her gaze was distant, her voice absentminded.

“Sixty seconds and I could be gone.” She picked at a loose thread on her shirt.

Another girl called his name. He looked away, distracted, and when he looked back, she was gone.

III. singing of songs that aren’t music

“Boo.”

The whisper in his ear startled him. He jumped; a breath escaped his mouth sharply.

“You must be following me.” He turned to her, grinning slightly.

“No. Merely coincidences…” Her gaze was still that distracted look.

“Yeah, sure. I personally haven’t met with a stranger so many times before.”

She ignored him and continued her own conversation. “Can you hear that?”

“Hear what?” He couldn’t hear anything out of the ordinary; cars, breathing, voices…all expected.

“It’s the opposite of music.” She glanced at him, her eyes piercing and focused. So unlike her nature.

“There’s an opposite to music?” His answer was late, struggled out after too many seconds gone by.

“Don’t know.” Finally, a semi-normal reply. She bit her lip and looked behind her, restless.

“Well, don’t let me keep you.” He knew the signs of a person who needed to be somewhere else.

She shot another glance at him and walked away without a word.

IV. technology personalities fade away

“What’s that?”

He was startled again but didn’t jump. He closed the book loudly, hugging it to himself. “Nothing.”

“That isn’t a published book. It had handwriting and drawings.” Her face was thoughtful.

“I know.” He didn’t offer an explanation.

“Handwriting and drawings…ink and pencil.” The way she pronounced the words carefully made them come to life.

He studied her. A suspicion grew in his mind, an answer to why she was like that.

“Too many people type today.” Her face screwed up in disgust. “Too much digital and technology.”

“Don’t you like technology?” He was learning to read between the lines of her statements.

She shrugged. “To an extent. But soon handwriting and letters and pencil will be forgotten.”

“And you see that as a bad thing?”

“Yes. It’s like we’re robots…Technology controls too much. Personality will be lost.”

“Maybe some people’s personality involves technology.” He was trying to see the world how she viewed it.

“Not mine.” He already knew that. Her eyes met his. “Not yours either.” She left.

V. coffee kisses to win your heart back

“Good morning.”

She sat down in the chair opposite him. He snorted when he saw who it was even though he knew her voice.

“It’s not morning.” He knew better than to say that but he did anyway.

Like he guessed, she had a reply to throw back at him. “It is to the vampires.”

He laughed, amused by her unique personality. “We’re not vampires, sorry to say.”

“How do you know?” She reached over and took his coffee from him, stealing a few sips.

“Because it’s not morning.” Rather a simple answer than to go into details. “And that’s my coffee, you know.”

“Not to you. And I do know; you put far too much sugar in it.” She handed it back.

“You implying you’re a vampire?” A thrill shot through him as he took a sip. Her lips had touched where his lips were now touching.

“Might be.” She rose and patted his head before walking away.

VI. tears and alleyways to make it okay

“Hey, hey, I’m here now, it’s okay.”

Her voice was like magic to his ears. He looked up at her from where he was hiding between two buildings.

She knelt down beside him. “It’s alright. You don’t have to hide from me.”

He was shaking, his arms wrapped around his stomach. More tears fell. “Why?” he choked out. “Why?”

“Shh. Why what?” Her voice took on a soothing note, something he’d never heard before.

“Why are you here? Why are you the one trying to help when we barely know each other?” His questions tumbled out.

“I wouldn’t say we barely know each other.” He couldn’t say if she was avoiding his questions or not.

“We’ve spoken, what, five times now?” His voice roses, despair tinged with desperation.

“Six, including now.” Her voice was barely a murmur and she was no longer looking at him.

Her certainty shocked him. He paused, still crying, unsure what to say.

“It’s okay.” She looked at him.

“What’s okay?”

“Everything. I’ll make it okay.” Her words and expression were fierce. It made him believe.

He reached forward and hugged her.

VII. beauty is hidden in the most unique forms

“That book again.”

He closed it before she could see what he was writing. “Are you always creeping up on me?”

“No. You’re just always unobservant.” She smiled at him, the first bright happy smile he’d seen.

He rolled his eyes at her. “Is unobservant even a word?” It sounded awkward to him.

“I don’t know. It should be. So many people are unobservant…” Her expression turned dreamy.

“Maybe you mean oblivious.” He inspected her expression, unable to decipher it.

“No, oblivious sounds too much like obvious. I mean unobservant.” She returned his intense stare.

“You seem happy.” It wasn’t a question. He didn’t need confirmation from her; he could easily see it.

“I know. I’m being happy for all the unhappy people out there. They need cheering up.”

He didn’t need to ask if he was one of the unhappy people. He was surprisingly touched.

“Look, the sun is so bright today.” Her dreamy expression returned. “It’s beautiful. Not many things are beautiful anymore.”

“You are,” he blurted by accident. She was as shocked as he was by his statement. He smiled. “It’s true.”

She smiled back but then left him – but not before he saw her rosy cheeks.

VIII. normal sentences don’t suit you, dear

“Hello.”

A normal greeting. He turned to her. “Hi.” He wondered how long the normal words would last.

“How are you?” She seemed to actually care about his answer.

“Good, you?” Just like her, he cared about her answer too.

“Me? Doesn’t matter…” Another distracted look. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”

She grabbed his hand and led him out of the shop. And just like that, his world tipped over.

IX. love and life make the world turn ’round

“Do you believe in fate?”

She slipped beside him as though it was the easiest thing to do. Like she belonged there.

He looked at her, some emotion in his eyes that he didn’t reveal to her; it was his own secret.

“Fate? As in, like, everything happens for a reason and all that?” He wasn’t sure he knew where she was going.

She considered his words. “Yeah, I guess so. But sometimes I wonder if it’s just another word for God.”

He shrugged. “I believe in life. And love. Isn’t that enough?” He didn’t understand religions and beliefs.

“It’s a lot more than some people believe in.” Her words held sorrow. He hated the sound of it.

“Is it more than what you believe in?” he asked softly. When he turned his gaze to her, she was looking at her feet.

“I don’t know what to believe in.” She seemed different. Her out-there personality was hidden by sadness.

“Are you okay?” His question was heavy with concern. He had come to love her different opinions and missed them now.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” But then she laughed bitterly. “Who am I kidding? I’m not fine. Is anyone, or is it all make-believe?”

“It seems mostly make-believe,” he admitted, “but sometimes people are happy. Sometimes.”

“Can you make me happy?” She stopped walking and so did he. They stood there, something new between them.

“Depends.” His mouth quirked into a smile.

“On?” Her curiosity spiked through her voice. Her eyes widened when he came closer.

“Maybe not but…” He bit his lip and leaned towards her, whispering in her ear. “Do you love me?”

And she replied with something that made his heart burst.

X. your voice is as beautiful as the words of a poet

“This is the tenth time I’ve talked to you.”

He glanced over at her and smiled. “I know.”

She sat beside him and read the words in the book left open this time. He trusted her enough to let her read them.

“You’d smile when you saw her / But then you’d stare / It’d make you speechless / Her beauty’s ever there.”

Her voice was soft as she sung under her breath. The song was written down in pencil.

“You’re a songwriter,” she stated. “Who’d you write this song for? Or is it just a general one?”

He scratched the back of his neck nervously. “I wrote it for you.”

She smiled. “They’re pretty words.” She touched the paper, careful not to smudge the pencil.

He took ‘pretty words’ as a compliment. “Thank you.”

“You have pencil-stained fingers. Did you write it just now?” Her eyes studied his hands.

“Yeah.”

She picked up his hand and kissed one of the pencil-stained fingers. He took a deep breath in.

“You have a pencil-stained mouth now.” She laughed and it was beautiful.

“Tell me something.” He focused his gaze onto her, searching her face.

“I’d probably tell anyone anything,” she replied softly. He interpreted that as a ‘sure.’

“Are you a poet?” He thought back to the time when they met and she said she liked his non-existent hat.

She smiled, happy that he’d worked that out. “Your poet,” she told him. “I’m your poet.”