I sat in the circulation desk of the library. I watched with him with side glances. He read his book and rested he head on his hand, looking away from me. I started to write out a poem on paper while looking at him. I penned down the interesting features of his posture, down to the book he was reading. I scribbled the lines of St. Jude to help me focus, while recalling past conversations. I remember walking in the woods with him, talking about religion, friends and life. I fell in love with him, every time I talked to him. He talked about his girlfriend, and I would nod and smile. His future seemed joyous and bright. I wanted to remember him so I wrote poem after poem. I kept it out of sight. I didn’t show it to anyone. I feared to be mocked
