wishing otherwise

wistful jazz wails in the background. the drive bustles with beatniks and bohemians, baddies and babes. stale cigarette smoke wafts towards me. i see the source. you.

i only glance at you for the briefest second, but you catch my eye. that smoldering look you got’s really something else, i think, returning to my book. while i reread the same passage, i sense you watching me. this time, looking up, i slowly take you in.

you’ve got crumpled olive green cargo pants on, but they’re just tight enough around your round bubble ass. you’re wearing two tanktops, layered, one white and one black, and a leather jacket’s slung over your forearm, obscuring some of your tattoos. surprised at myself, i openly admire your breasts as i continue up you and meet your glance.

“glance” is too light a word for that look of yours. your eyes are locked on me like a fighter plane acquiring a target. so brazen, so bold. so intimidating.

i find myself wishing i had that in me, but today i don’t. i smile weakly, then break the gaze, dropping down to my book, back to my safety zone.

out of the corner of my eye, i see you shoot me a final glance as you join up with your approaching friend. sad to see you leave, i at least watch you go.

now, days later, i revel in my regret for the courage that came too late, and for the chance squandered so quickly.