So, I wrote this ages ago. I didn't like it. I still don't. I think it is entirely too blech. (A technical word doodle term. Don't concern yourself.) I don't think that I posted it before. Though it is possible that I used parts of it elsewhere. Is it still plagiarizing if you are plagiarizing yourself?

He danced around it.
To the familiar strains of fear.
He didn't want to stop for too long.
Nor get too far away.
He was going to ask.
No excuses.
Just panic.
Sheer, flop-sweating terror.
And the urge to run, as fast as possible,
In any direction.
The prospect of "no" didn't worry him.
He'd heard it before.
Infrequently.
It was the possibility of "yes"
That had him tucking his chin into the collar of his sweater.
She was one of those.
Is.
The life-changers.
No matter how well-constructed his perfect little world was...
(Built on a foundation of denial.)
And no matter how long she would spend in it...
(Mere minutes would do it.)
It would be rocked.
Forever.
Other hearts have been poured out to him,
He feels guilty for how little impact they had.
Yet when she spoke...
When she spoke, he saw a forever
In between the syllables of her "hello."
False bravado and sarcastic wit
would provide no shelter from this storm.
He was going to ask her out.
True.
He just didn't know which reply he was rooting for.

Labels: cleaning out the draft folder