fledgling romances

It could have been a date.
All the right elements were there.

You endured a couple of hours sorting through old, musty records, even though I only picked out one in the end. You smiled softly and said you’d be happy to do it again.

We sat in the movie theater watching 3D sharks and sea snakes, all followed by dinner in front of a fireplace and some wine.

You took my questions well. I’m getting better at throwing them out. They come easy and without effort. I don’t even have to try; this talent keeps me from having to talk about myself. It’s impressive, and mostly you didn’t even know what hit you.

But you know, your secrets are safe with me.

I even thought to kiss you, but more out of habit or loneliness than desire. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you that my heart is still full and silently whispering another’s name. I’ll tell you sometime when it doesn’t hurt to say it out loud.

Oh, pretty robyn, sing your sweet song into my mouth.
Flutter nervously in the space next to my ear.
You’ve at least ruffled feathers flattened by a brokenhearted tear.

Oh, pretty robyn, make your nest on that branch.
I’ll watch you from time to time, so make it close to the ground—
’cause one day I might climb to it,
if you’re still around.