Literature
Him
Sometimes,
more often than not,
I catch myself thinking about him.
I wonder
where he's at,
what he's up to,
how he's doing.
I am only curious.
Because I know it doesn't matter.
And I think
of the sound of his awkward laughter,
of how his reluctant smiles give him away,
and of when he looks at me so that our eyes meet.
I think of these things when he's near
and when he's not.
Because I know it doesn't matter.
I don't mean to think of him,
I can't seem to help it,
my mind always wanders back
down the same old beaten track.
And I'm sure he wouldn't appreciate it,
even I find it frustrating.
Because I know it doesn't even matter.