For a someone.

The smell of books and chatter of the senile saturated the room.
There you were in your chair, unmoving in anticipation.

I took a seat.
Close enough for recognition.
Far enough for avoidance.

You said my name.
I turned.
We talked.

Talked of things old and new,
Things of irrelevance.
Things of simplicity.
Things that filled the silence.

Our time was cut short.
It was your time now,
No longer ours.

As you spoke I sat motionless;
Pretending to listen.

My gaze pierced your divergent eyes.
Begging them to look my way,
Afraid of my reaction if they did.

Your voice sang in my ears.
Your charm subdued my stare.
The bitter taste of stale coffee blanketed my tongue.

I wanted you.

I imagined what it would be like.
I imagined us in a coffee shop.
I imagined easy conversation decorated in laughter
Where your hand would naturally brush against my own
And your smile would derive from me.

Imagined a time when you would look at me as a someone.
Imagined a time when I would be your inspiration.
A time when you would call me her and us we.

The slapping of claps tore into me and revealed what would never be.
There you stood, seemingly by yourself;
The ring on your finger stating otherwise.

You looked at me and smiled.
Not at me, but for me.

You were out of time and I was too late.