- wisp -

"Take a seat,"

was all the art teacher said,

oblivious to the happenings around her 

as everyone is oblivious to the happenings around them.

He turned to her, away from me,

gaze cut like string 

made of gossamer silk,

likened to the ephemeral moment 

that is as true as the dream

during which nothing fades.

It's only until after that you question why.

Flecks of doubt,

sprouting like a seed

spreading its weeds with roots

that tunnel to the core of life itself.

"He had never even seen you,"

that little voice says

as it always does. 

No longer pink,

I sat back down,

eyes drifting towards the open window. 

The breeze carried with it the hint

of flowers and the dewy smell

of earth when damp,

life radiant even when all that remains is

a scent.

In my mind, an internal battle raged:

look at him

don't fall for it

just a peek

don't fall for it.

I lost the fight.

When I sneaked a glance,

he was there.

I gasped, turned back to the window,

eyes wide.

didheseedidheseedidhesee?

"You aren't sketching,"

he says with the innocence of a child

who has yet to see his mother and the milkman.

I looked back, unable to show him what I was

for I was afraid he would run away

without a second glance,

that I would be alone again, 

with no one to remember,

and I smiled like a flower.