Not quite unrequited love; just a certain wistfulness -- a wince, a blink, a sigh. No bond between us, only harmless flirting, so no reason for hopes or fears. And I would have no voice to speak of them to you, no 'open sesame' key, and no tongue stone-gifted to beguile my way into your heart. That's not me. I have just my pen, and it's not mighty. I'm slow to answer knocks; I live walled in, over-cautious, stolid. Maybe it's time to unfasten these locks, throw open the doors and make myself bold. But then, if I made my intentions clear, they might -- become transparent; disappear.
Copyright 1995 Edward Gaillard. All rights reserved.