so it starts off
with a harmless, accidental
bump in a corridor
between two strangers,
a cliché fall and then an even
more cliché catch,
widening eyes and dilated
pupils, mouth opening and
spouting apologies like hosepipes,
arms around each other,
his hair golden in the light
as they stand surrounded by her
strewn, forgetful paper.

then it's sitting by each other
in the cafeteria (every other day,
at exactly twelve forty-three),
laughing and falling
slowly, but surely,
into the deep wells
of sweet, expected affection,
because he insists on buying
the drinks and she never
lets him, because she says
she hasn't ever had
the chance to spend
her money this way,
but also because it can't be chance
that her feet always brush
against his under a gum-covered
table, can it?

oh, look, now they're going
around to the other's house,
'hanging out', as people do,
and you can see them
walking on cobbled roads
that hurt their feet, but
they never notice, and you
would never notice,
because they look like
they're travelling on through
the softest particles of
light, minds wide, as the
sun falls asleep on a
town so bright you can't even
see them anymore,
but you know they're there,
arm in arm, hearts
beating just a little quicker.

and now the climax (which
everyone saw coming):
they sit at their table, and they
are both smiling sheepishly,
because 'they can't possibly
like me, but i'm going to try',
and then surprise! they speak
at the same time, blushing messes
and trying not to talk over the
other, and then finally (after a
lot of painful babbling), they're
officially together.

now they walk around, holding
hands and smiling bashfully,
exchanging secret looks with
the palms of their hands,
careful, delicate speech that
is always, without fail perfect,
and she stands a little taller
and he is a little kinder,
and beneath innocent covers
they say that they're in love.

in love? really?

naturally, it continues:
he doesn't text her one morning,
and she is quietly hurt for
expecting it.
he sees her talking to
another guy, and he is
quietly hurt for not expecting
it. little, childish, petty things -
they pile up, dig little holes in
their trust, but just
ignore it because this is love.
they said it was love and
therefore it must be.

and so we finish off
with a harmless, accidental
comment about something
between two people
who are not quite strangers,
a cliché gasp and an even
more cliché decision to run,
run away because this is it,
it's all over, he wasn't hers
to begin with and she was
just a bomb, ticking, waiting
for the chance to explode,
and he runs and thinks 'it wasn't
real', and she stands still and thinks
'that was quick', she thinks to herself
that she will not cry, because
this is just how it is,
and it ends up with
broken hearts and broken
secrets, unspoken, unacknowledged,
between two strangers,
one who thought they
would be more,
one who knew they never
could be.