The Valentine Admirer
Posted on 11. Feb, 2008 by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Romantic
If for a moment, could I whisper between my lips about how I see you, the way the wind blows through your hair, the brilliance in your eyes that light up my soul, or the scent of heaven as I linger behind you for only a second. If I was only a passing memory in your life, I would be blessed to find myself warm in a place touching the eve of sunset and twilight, where I find myself lost. Yet I am not lost. I have been found. I close my thoughts to the world outside and find myself succumbing to a defining instance of perfection, the kind of feeling that only a heart understands and words can never convey.
You look at me as if a stranger passing by.
For a moment from your soul as you casually smile at me. Without knowledge, you inspire me to breathe and to hope for the day I am sitting in a quiet little coffee shop thinking about my daily errands. A day when I glance up from my routine, finding you quietly sitting there, nervously breaking contact with my eyes as you smile and join me in denying how we both feel.
Yet I think again, once over, that you do not have such reflective thoughts.
I dismiss my own feverish yearning, for that quiet smile or charismatic pause you give your words is merely the reason I find such fondness for you. I wonder- does every soul encounter you and find themselves drawn in to the flame, or am I merely the fool who holds his conscience to the warmth of the fire until my soul ignites?
Should I write about the aching wandering of my heart as I keep my lips pressed quietly, denying the sound of my spirit from escaping the prison of our social boundaries?
Should I reach my hand for yours unlike before, hoping that you can feel something, that as two souls one of us is brave enough to take action and find someone who can complete us?
Nor should I simply send you a valentine as an admirer, the altruistic spirit who fondly thinks of you and meanders into the next day of heartfelt musings?
I do no ask these feelings to answer my questions. I feign the wisdom of morality as my thoughts succumb to the fatal flaw of my human nature. If only you knew the quiet words of my emotions, how they inspire me, how they motivate me to once again return to a place in my life where the quill of indiscretion is inked by the dear cost of passion.