The boy in the magazine.

I saw a boy in a magazine once.

He didn’t have the finest face, nor the prettiest smile. 

but his eyes held me longer than I meant to stay.

I wondered what his voice would have sounded like. 

Would it hum like a bassline, low and warm,

would it be a sound felt more than heard?

I imagined things his hand would do. 

how they might caress my face like something fragile?

how they might pull mine into a dance,

teaching my feet to follow his.

Would they know how to catch my tears

before the ground breaks them?

Would they know how to paint a smile on me face,

soft and effortless?

At a concert, if love songs danced between us,

I hope he wouldn’t sing.

I hope he’d just look at me,

let his eyes say what his lips won’t.

Maybe that’s why I want him –

the boy in the magazine –

to love me the way I’d love someone –

fully, quietly,

without being asked.