Looking

Typical angst-ridden unrequited-love poetry.

In those photos,
(The ones where we are paying no attention to the camera)
You are looking at me.

I didn’t notice it at first.
Three of us in a line
Like birds on a fence.
Me in the middle.
You two teasing, tickling.
And me, laughing and struggling.

The other one isn’t looking at me.
He’s looking at the ground.
His teeth are gritted in concentration
And he’s laughing freely,
As am I.
Actually, as are you.
But he is looking straight ahead,
I am looking at the ground,
And you are looking at me.

What are you thinking?
You’re watching my smiling face.
I’d like to think you’re delighting
In a beauty you find in my smile.
I’d like to think that you’re happy that
Your actions are causing me to laugh.
And in that one where I’ve grabbed your hand
I’d like to think your heart stopped, just for a second.

Because when I look at those photos,
(Which makes me think all of those things),
I am looking at you.