i said no more than two words to her.
but something, sitting there, watching her on stage. i think i'm in lust. or love. or something. so hard, not knowing. i'm watching her eyes. her mouth. the way she smiles. and every once in a while i look up and i imagine that she's looking right back at me. right back into my eyes. and i imagine that she knows what i'm thinking. and i imagine that she wants the same thing.
and then i imagine that i'm somebody else. because it's only then that i will be able to speak more than two words to her. because it's only then that i'll be able to convince myself to carry on a conversation with her, to even have a prayer of anything happening.
so caught up in imagining i am that i don't even realize that she's packing up to go home. and she pulls on her coat and her bag over her shoulder, and as she passes by me, she turns, and (i imagine?) she looks at me. and i push my imagination to the side and i look up at her.