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I drank in his presence,
Like I would savour
A cool glass of lemonade
On a hot, dry day.
It was refreshing and cool
And it hit the spot.

As he sat across from me,
I could not help to think
Of a calm lake,
Still on the surface
But filled with life
Just below.

I should day something,
Be it a polite hello,
A witty comment
About the city
We were about to leave,
Instead, I hide behind my novel.

I wish nothing more
Than to engage this man
In conversation, but instead
I imagine reasons
Why he would not be interested
In conversation,
In me.

Perhaps, he was involved,
Perhaps, he was married,
Perhaps, he was a Catholic priest,
Perhaps, he was gay.
That’s it! He’s gay,
He is too good looking to be otherwise.

With that settled,
I comfortably settle
Into the novel
I had purchased at a gift shop.
I had no chance with him.

“Excuse me, miss.”

What?
Oh my, he’s talking to me,
Probably wants to know
Where I got my scarf.

“Oh. Hi. Yes,”
Was my not so savvy reply.

He asked a trivial question,
One I have long forgotten,
And before I knew it,
We had spent
The whole three hours talking.

My stop came first,
And we said our goodbyes,
He asked for my number
And I gave it to him,
Just as the train pulled away.

I waved good bye,
And he waved back.
What a lovely man,
I hope to God,
He’s not gay,
Or at least not taken.