Missed Connections
were you the one?
The first, and only, time I saw you I was at a loss for words.
It wasn't often I was struck speechless. If anything, I always had too much to say but that's where you were different. Where I felt different about you.
I remember you to this day as if it all happened yesterday; you were dressed in your military fatigues waiting at the bus stop for the next line. Your hair, which I always imagine was a dark brown like mine, was cropped so short it made it almost impossible to know for sure what color it really was. Your eyes were blue; not the color of the sky or the sea, but this odd color shade that reminded me of denim. A deep, dark blue that I could have fallen into and never climbed out of.
You had smiled at me. It was this huge, radiant smile that immediately washed away all the wariness I had seen on your face when I had approached. You had grabbed your bag from the bench beside you and tossed it to the ground at your booted feet before motioning to the- now empty- spot beside you.
"Sit down," you had told me with so much kindness I was taken back. No one ever paid attention to me, even if I was standing and waiting for the bus, shifting from foot to foot because my feet ached and my back was tired for a long day of standing.
It was the first time in years anyone offered me a seat. I thanked you quietly and sat down, holding my purse on my lap and just stared forward, trying not to stare at you as if you were a god come to earth. The silence was unbearable and I wanted to say something so many times.
I wanted to ask what your name was.
I wanted to ask where you were going.
But nothing I mentally told myself would allow me to open my mouth and allow the words to fall out so I sat, and contented myself to steal glances at you every so often. You were so handsome, most definitely the most attractive man I'd ever been around. The longer I looked the more questions came to me.
I wanted to ask if you wanted to get a drink with me.
I wanted to ask if you had anyone at home waiting for you.
But again, I couldn't gather together the courage to ask. You were attractive, and seemingly the nicest guy around, surely you had to have a nice girl waiting for you at home.
The bus came, not the line I was waiting for but apparently yours because you stood up, grabbing your large military green bag from the ground before slinging it over your shoulder. You had walked towards the bus and just as you went to mount the first stare you turned around to look at me, those denim eyes staring into mine as you said, "Have a good day."
Then you were gone and I've wondered ever since, what if?
It wasn't often I was struck speechless. If anything, I always had too much to say but that's where you were different. Where I felt different about you.
I remember you to this day as if it all happened yesterday; you were dressed in your military fatigues waiting at the bus stop for the next line. Your hair, which I always imagine was a dark brown like mine, was cropped so short it made it almost impossible to know for sure what color it really was. Your eyes were blue; not the color of the sky or the sea, but this odd color shade that reminded me of denim. A deep, dark blue that I could have fallen into and never climbed out of.
You had smiled at me. It was this huge, radiant smile that immediately washed away all the wariness I had seen on your face when I had approached. You had grabbed your bag from the bench beside you and tossed it to the ground at your booted feet before motioning to the- now empty- spot beside you.
"Sit down," you had told me with so much kindness I was taken back. No one ever paid attention to me, even if I was standing and waiting for the bus, shifting from foot to foot because my feet ached and my back was tired for a long day of standing.
It was the first time in years anyone offered me a seat. I thanked you quietly and sat down, holding my purse on my lap and just stared forward, trying not to stare at you as if you were a god come to earth. The silence was unbearable and I wanted to say something so many times.
I wanted to ask what your name was.
I wanted to ask where you were going.
But nothing I mentally told myself would allow me to open my mouth and allow the words to fall out so I sat, and contented myself to steal glances at you every so often. You were so handsome, most definitely the most attractive man I'd ever been around. The longer I looked the more questions came to me.
I wanted to ask if you wanted to get a drink with me.
I wanted to ask if you had anyone at home waiting for you.
But again, I couldn't gather together the courage to ask. You were attractive, and seemingly the nicest guy around, surely you had to have a nice girl waiting for you at home.
The bus came, not the line I was waiting for but apparently yours because you stood up, grabbing your large military green bag from the ground before slinging it over your shoulder. You had walked towards the bus and just as you went to mount the first stare you turned around to look at me, those denim eyes staring into mine as you said, "Have a good day."
Then you were gone and I've wondered ever since, what if?