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Three Minutes

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  • Three Minutes

    I look at him.
    His eyes, dark like the night, take me to a land of wonder.
    They beg me to ask questions,
    To dig deeper.
    The curves of his mouth draw me closer and closer.
    He laughs and my soul ignites.
    My mind takes me to a place far away.
    Reality cannot live here.
    My dreams take it and smother it, before it has a chance to ruin my happiness.
    He is here.
    Our eyes meet.
    I cannot move.
    He can.
    Every step he takes towards me heals a wound life has forced upon me.
    He stands within a foot away from me.
    I expect him to turn and run like all the others,
    But he reaches out his hand and gently brushes my cheek.
    He brushes away all the rejections and hopelessness I have dealt with for a long time.
    I see it now.
    As I look into his eyes,
    I realize what it is all about.
    We all want a hero.
    He is mine.
    He is meant to fix it all,
    To help me write my story,
    To give me a reason to breathe.
    He is supposed to look at me and wonder what is hidden in my soul.
    People like him are the inspiration behind many of life's great works,
    Works of art, works of literature.
    They are the answer to every question.
    They are meant to find people like us.
    He is supposed to find me.
    His lips are moving closer to mine.
    So close...
    What's that noise?
    Reality has somehow found its way in,
    And it sounds like a bell.
    My eyesight is clearing up.
    What's that?
    A chemical equation?
    I see bodies frantically moving around me.
    I know where I am.
    I am looking at an empty chair.
    I have three minutes until my next class,
    Three minutes until reality hits again.
    Three minutes until I realize that,
    While I was looking at him,
    He was looking at her.