I don't wait by the phone,
but I do wait with the phone, day after day,
since I handed you a ripped fraction
of a piece of paper with ten numbers
and six letters printed neatly across it.
I keep hoping you will call, even just to chat,
so you will say something funny,
like the time you told me it would snow,
as an April Fool's joke, but then it did snow.
The time our monotonous teacher
began speaking to you only to tell you
your choice didn't matter. How out of place.
How odd.
Yet, how funny.
We'll laugh and I will realize,
there is no reason to deny how I feel.
This was nearly inevitable.

I was bound to fall in love with you,
the moment I saw your real smile.
I have never been a fan of curls,
and I have never been opposed to them, either.
But I want to run my fingers through your hair,
curls and all.
Eyes the color of the pacific seas
have always been attractive to me.
Yet our eyes match in hue,
yours lighter than mine. They suit you.
I can see myself in your eyes,
and I wonder, if maybe you can see you,
in my eyes, too.

I always thought I knew what I wanted in a man.
What I needed in my future husband and best friend.
And somehow, you, the complete opposite of my desires,
snuck onto my radar and I don't want you to go away.

I had my doubts about you, I truthfully admit,
but I think you and I, could work.
We could be a... thing.
A couple.
Apparently everyone says we should date,
so why not?
There's no harm in giving us a try.

I think what sold me,
was the poem you wrote that I read today,
despite you disliking reading poetry
and dreading writing poetry.
It was so simple, yet so beautiful.
Humorous, but not overly comical.
Your words had an air of effortless,
floating off the page towards me,
and that's when I knew.
When I could feel you watching me read,
as I felt your words coming closer and closer,
I wanted to look at you
but I didn't want you to know I knew.

You're a lovely poet, and I wish you would write more,
but I guess in this relationship,
I am the poet who needs a muse
and that is what you are for.

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