So I’ve been thinking about what it’ll be like when we meet.
For the first time.
Standing face to face.
You’ll think I look like Paul Bunyan in my plaid shirt.
(I make them work.)
(Yes, I do.)
I’ll have my baseball cap — maybe one of three different Blue Jays caps I currently have in my rotation — pulled down low over my peepers.
I’ll explain that I liked the way Clint Eastwood wore his cowboy hats in westerns.
“Dork,” you’ll laugh.
“The nerve.” I’ll gasp, adjusting my thick, rectangular, plastic-rimmed glasses.
And I’ll feign outrage.
Mostly by saying, “Outrage!”
You’ll roll your gorgeous dark eyes in mock exasperation.
“Man,” I’ll sigh. “Your face… it just melts me. I’ve never seen anything… Wow. I feel it, you know? Your warmth. I’m rambling. But your cheeks look so soft and caressable. Your lips so full. I want to kiss them. Softly. At first. Your skin is just so delicate. And that smile… Oh, God, the way you just tucked the hair behind your ear. It just… It got to me. I feel like yours is a face I want to see a lot more of. A lot. I just need to.”
“Cool,” you’ll reply.
I’ll shake my head.
You’ll shrug so unbelievably cutely that I’ll let out some swoony sound completely devoid of vowels.
I’ll lock my eyes on yours.
I hope you’ll recognize them as eyes that are wise with softness, sympathetic with strength, and red with seasonal allergies.
The feelings will be intense, and I may break our stare.
Just briefly though.
And when I am looking off in the distance at the vanishing vapour trail in the sky south of us, or at the two birds nestled together on a neighbouring roof, don’t for a second think that I am not interested.
I am just memorizing the moment, babe.
Because I know, without a doubt, that it is a very important one.