(no subject)
May. 5th, 2004 06:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
novapsycheI left work today on shaky emotional ground, all the while thinking, "I better cheer up in case Paul is at the bus stop." I tried to focus on the colors of the tulips and the scent of the blossoms on the trees.
Trying to cross State and Eisenhower, I saw that a #7 was about to cross the intersection, too, which meant that it would be at the stop before I would. This #7 was way off-schedule, though; I knew the next would be rather late. I found myself hoping that traffic would stay snarled and keep it from moving. But I was able to cross and so was it. I peered down the block, seeing if Paul were already at the stop and so would board this bus. But the enclosure was empty.
I walked toward the enclosure and saw someone of familiar height and build about to cross the street from the 777 building. Is it? Is it? Yes, it was Paul. I grinned, almost ruefully, to myself. Okay, I definitely need to find a better mood now. I began to stroll.
At first, Paul went inside the enclosure and was going to sit down. As I approached, though, he strayed outside and kind of milled around. I couldn't help but smile at that. And today he was the first to hail me.
We talked about the Iraqi prison scandal (as it was the first time we'd had the opportunity to discuss that particular political item); we talked about that for quite a while. It's so nice to complain to a sympathetic soul. It's funny; he'd bring up a news item ("Did you hear about Rush--?") and I'd nod emphatically before he could even finish the sentence.
During our second leg, I sat to his left and found myself looking sideways at the translucency of his blue-gray eye and, with some measure of fondness, the crow's feet at the corners there. After five days, some of his features had fled my mind, become fuzzy. So often, looking at him is like seeing his face for the first time.
Trying to cross State and Eisenhower, I saw that a #7 was about to cross the intersection, too, which meant that it would be at the stop before I would. This #7 was way off-schedule, though; I knew the next would be rather late. I found myself hoping that traffic would stay snarled and keep it from moving. But I was able to cross and so was it. I peered down the block, seeing if Paul were already at the stop and so would board this bus. But the enclosure was empty.
I walked toward the enclosure and saw someone of familiar height and build about to cross the street from the 777 building. Is it? Is it? Yes, it was Paul. I grinned, almost ruefully, to myself. Okay, I definitely need to find a better mood now. I began to stroll.
At first, Paul went inside the enclosure and was going to sit down. As I approached, though, he strayed outside and kind of milled around. I couldn't help but smile at that. And today he was the first to hail me.
We talked about the Iraqi prison scandal (as it was the first time we'd had the opportunity to discuss that particular political item); we talked about that for quite a while. It's so nice to complain to a sympathetic soul. It's funny; he'd bring up a news item ("Did you hear about Rush--?") and I'd nod emphatically before he could even finish the sentence.
During our second leg, I sat to his left and found myself looking sideways at the translucency of his blue-gray eye and, with some measure of fondness, the crow's feet at the corners there. After five days, some of his features had fled my mind, become fuzzy. So often, looking at him is like seeing his face for the first time.
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(no subject)
Way back when
when I used to fall in love,
I too could scarce recall
the face of the beloved.