I walked around corners expecting to see you there.
But you weren't.
Just like those Christmas seasons when Mom would tell me we were poor, so I thought she was planning a big surprise Christmas filled with presents.
But she wasn't.
Perhaps I too easily allow my mind to ruin surprises. I have to know everything. So I overanalyze your comments about the weather and allow my wish that you'd be here sooner consume me.
I think you're playing a game with me,
that you say you are somewhere else doing other things.
I think you're teasing me by asking questions about the train stop to get to my work.
You won't be here until Saturday (or Sunday).
Why would you ask me this unless it was a tease,
Unless you had tulips in hand and were traveling in my direction?
Unless you are trying to entice me.
You love it when I squirm and show anxious emotion about us.
So I swivel in a chair clenching my jaw,
Tapping my fingers,
Bouncing my knees frantically.
Half-crazed, one-hundred percent sure you aren't here.
But I'm letting the hope sink in and fool my better judgment.
I'm pretending you'll be under the tree.
Because the thought of you waiting for me fills me with a presence I have never known.