How unrestrained can glances be? Does the flutter of an eyelid make the mark? Or does slipping a peek from the corner of my eye qualify?

With a heart failing to keep up with the racing thoughts in my head just at the mention of his name, how am I meant to restrain the wish that can be read through my eyes?

If I were in my giggly teen years, the rose mosaic scattered on my cheeks would be more befitting. But alas, he is not the hunk I once used to dream of, and I am not the young girl I once used to be.

Questions make me feel smaller than I am. They tower above me, and grow still when I am unable to find an answer. Looking up at them piled so high leaves me dizzy with delight, as I anticipate his visit to our family home for dinner tonight.

© The Londoner, February 2009


One thought on “Anticipation

Share your thoughts!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s