I wanted to write you a poem … but I couldn’t find the right words.

I hate when that happens.

See, I’m a writer.

And writers always know what to say.

So I get mad when I have no words.


Logic makes me mad too.

Logic says I should investigate.

Ask. Seek. Knock.

Find out if you’re married.

Or have a girlfriend.

Or might be gay.


But I don’t really want to.

I might not be your type.

And I don’t want to be disappointed.


It’s funny … it almost seems … predestined.

You just keep showing up everywhere!

I first saw you on the street – you were gorgeous!

I didn’t thinkĀ  about it very much. You were just some guy I’d never see again.

Then I got home, and my brother had a photo of you.

Said you were his cousin’s uncle’s girlfriend’s half-brother twice removed.




Then I went to work.

I walked through the cafeteria and …

There you were, meeting the guy upstairs.



The boss sent me on an errand. Some flowers for his girlfriend.

I opened up a Google map

and took them to her office.

You were sitting near the lobby, just behind the door.

Six inches of glass lay between us.

And a security guard.

And a key card.

And the fact that you didn’t know I was alive.



Then I got transferred.

New place, new space, just signed the papers.

I’m looking at them now.

There’s a duty roster.

Guess who’s on it.



So it looks like I’m meeting you tomorrow.

Really meeting you, in person, for the first time.

The boss will say, ‘This is 3CB, she’s new.’


Will you look at me and know that my hands are sweating?

Or that my insides are shaking?

Or that my tummy is flipping?


And what will I say?

What will I do?

I mean, it’s only a crush, right?

Like Jen says, it’s not like I’ll faint…


Well, I know what I won’t do.

I won’t shake your hand.

I won’t blabber or stammer.

I won’t trip on my boots.


I’ll keep my mouth shut, give my best mysterious smile, and make a little girly wave.

Smile and wave girl, just smile and wave.

I’ll pretend you never run through my mind.

I’ll pretend I haven’t looked at your wall.

Or your profile.

Or all of your tweets from last year.

I’ll pretend I don’t even know your name.


And then I’ll try hard,

Really, really, really hard,

Not to get drunk and confess

At my first office party.

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