I'm Glad I "Knew" You.

You came in right before closing, stumbling that stoned, blinky walk. Staring at all the shiny stuff. You didn't know I was watching. If you had known, you would have felt awkward, but there was no reason to feel anything. You wore a heavy coat and rainbow gloves and the flurries outside had anointed you. The flakes were melting to slow trickles that darkened the gold in your hair.

I didn't see you again for weeks. I wasn't looking, really - I'm not a stalker - you were on my mind, though. One of those snapshots that won't go away - a soft moment that you are allowed to witness with no recrimination. No forced hellos. No teeth-grinding small talk. I saw you like a vision: the snow princess.

When I saw you the second time, you were sitting at a table, eating. There was a guy with you. You were sitting at a ninety degree angle to him. He looked like a nice guy. He was handsome, but he just looked nice. He had one of those wool coats with the barrel wooden buttons and a hood. He seemed like the kind of guy who could sit in on drums and not make a big deal about it. You held hands. I was happy for both of you; I was sad for me.

I started seeing you around more after that. And I saw him, too. Then, I started feeling like a stalker. Not because I was, but because I had built a whole life for the two of you. I'm sure that neither of you noticed me, you had no reason to. But I thought about you. I'd see you at Dolores Park and think stupid things. I should buy them pastries. I never did. I imagined your weekend jaunts and smiled some kind of smile.

I knew when you broke up - it was pretty obvious. I felt like I should say something, do something, make some kind of gesture. I also thought that would creep you the fuck out. I thought, briefly, about making some kind of play. Trying to make you mine. But you were his, whether you were or not. It didn't feel right. I knew it would never feel right. And I didn't want to destroy my creation.

It was all so long ago. You can't help but wonder sometimes, no one can. I can still see your face so clearly. And it is perfect. That face. Eyes deep, lost in wonderment and chill. I owe you, and I hope that things worked out well. I'm happy with the way things worked out, myself. I'm glad that I never had to see those eyes flash anger. I'm glad that we never had a disagreement over coffee. I'm glad I met you, even though you never met me. I'm glad I knew you, even if it wasn't really you.

Green Sweater

You wore that green sweater all the time. I remember wondering if it was your favorite or your only. I wanted to be both, see. Your favorite and your only. Not really. In that way that twelve year old boys have, knowing they can outman the compromised adults they see around them if only given the chance.

We rode the bus. Nothing special about that. Except it was special. Because I could see glimpses of your smile, your hair. I rode in the back, of course. You sat right at the front, backpack still on, like you were ready to hit the ground at a dead sprint to get the jump on learning. Straight back, green sweater. You smelled like flowers.

No one spoke to you. I wonder, now, if that hurt? Did you feel snubbed? Did you not realize that the other girls feared you and the boys were terrified? We were content to get our short glimpses. They kept us going for weeks. The girls just wanted to be you and some of them took it hard. I hope to hell you didn't think it was because no one liked you. You were just a different species, and we couldn't relate.

The weird thing about time, the part I can never understand is this: I have no idea where you are. What you're doing. You're a few years older than me. We wouldn't recognize each other on the street. But I would instantly recognize that green sweater. No doubt. And sometimes when I walk through grocery stores, I realize that you smelled like laundry detergent, not flowers.