Jul 10, 2011

i can't act like i don't care 'cos i do

Literature lectures, her favourite. See that boy at the other end of the lecture hall? He's all the way at the other end, but she keeps glancing across, keeps looking all the way to the left of the hall. They always sit directly across each other so that each can steal glances at the other without having to turn their heads too much. They don't know the other is making a conscious effort too, but I see it. I see it in the way she hovers around her seat, how she waves at him before sitting down, how he's always looking out for her across the hall.

The lecturer talks about John Donne and his expression of love. The Anniversary.
All other things to their destruction draw,
Only our love hath no decay;
This no to-morrow hath, nor yesterday;
She steals so many glances at him, and him back at her, but their gazes don't meet. The smile's not on their faces, but you see the glow of her heart in her eyes as she touches the words on the paper; you see his month-long struggle with courage as he bites his lip -

The laughter of the lecture group interrupts. The Flea.
It suck'd me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be.
When the lecturer passes a suggestive remark, they instinctively look at each other and laugh. He looks down at his phone and then looks at her and smiles, and ten seconds later she does the exact same thing.

It's ridiculous, how the sparks that fly across the hall are so obvious to the rest of us, and invisible to them,

and they'll just keep wondering, tormenting themselves,
not realising it's already begun.

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