The first time I saw you at work, I thought you were cute. But I hardly looked twice, as I was often in the throes of work, dragging heavy carts back and forth through that sweltering greenhouse as you sat by yourself in your little office. I flirted with the cute boys in the garden store and passed free time in the break room with my friends.
Then one day, something changed.
You stepped out of the cool air conditioning of your office and invited me in out of the sweltering heat. The boy I was talking to and I both stepped in, and we stood around talking and laughing. I could feel his eyes on me the whole time, but strangely enough, it was you who held my gaze in such a magnetic fashion.
It wasn’t long before I started spending more and more time with you on breaks.
It turns out that you liked the company, too.
Your youthful look was deceiving. It wasn’t long til I learned the difference in our ages. Ask anyone and they’ll tell you how astronomically wrong it would be for anything to happen between us.
You could practically be my mother for fuck’s sake.
And yet, I can’t stop my heart from beating a little faster when I know I’m going to see you. When we spend time together, I can’t stop the nervous laughter from erupting from my chest. I can’t stop imagining what it would be like to take your face in both of my hands and to kiss you softly on the lips.
I know it’s wrong. I know it I know it I know it.
And yet I can’t stop thinking about you.
I know you’re not settled with anyone or dating. You live by yourself in a small apartment with borderline miserable conditions.
I could be your ray of sunshine on your cloudy days, if you gave me half a chance.
You invited me to your place yesterday. We sat at your small table for hours and exchanged stories all the while barely breaking eye contact. Why is it so easy to stare into your eyes for so long without looking away? You do it too, unflinchingly so.
I intend to see you again soon.
Yes, I know wishing for something beyond a friendship is pure insanity. I don’t know what to say, only that I know I’m digging a grave for my own heart already. If you won’t take it, it’ll be time for me to put it away somewhere where the sun doesn’t shine. Just another scar to scratch across its tough surface.
It’s another bout of pain waiting to surge. But the fall has already begun. It’s too late to spare me.