Trapped In The Margins

I saw her photo on one of those apps. You know, the one named after a lesser god.
Her eyes were brown or maybe they were gray.
Honestly, I don’t remember that well. But I do remember the way she tilted her head in photos.
The quintessential millennial pose. Angled so high as if the viewer were taking a glimpse from the heavens.
I did mention a lesser god, right?
Those eyes pierced me and the tilt knocked me off of my feet.
Maybe it’s because she was an artist that I became intrigued with her.
She wrote me back.
Numbers were exchanged.
Messages back and forth.
Falling in love during a pandemic is too difficult.
I longed to caress her face. I wanted to see if her lips were as soft as they looked.
Most of all, I wanted her to want me back.
Months of messages, video dates here and there.
Finally, the moment arrived when we met.
Nervous energy as I stood on a New York City street.
I waited anxiously for the woman of my dreams to sweep me off my feet.
But it was cold and awkward.
I sat across from a stranger that night.
My hands were damp with sweat but my body was cold from the Winter air.
Indoor dining with the door open is such a pandemic cliché but there we were.
I looked into her eyes and we drank wine.
My food became so cold that I could hardly eat it.
I wanted to listen, I wanted to speak. To tell her something I had been dreading to say. But I said it and the table fell silent.
Her eyes looking for an exit.
Her smile faded into slight frown.
We left the restaurant and I knew it was over.
I ruined something that felt amazing but it was also delusional.
Later that night, the light from my phone gleamed in my dark room.
“Can we still be friends?”
That lesser god’s arrow snapped in my heart.
“I cannot be friends with you because I like you too much. Goodbye.”
I never did hear from her again.
That image of her still haunts me.
Looking up to the heavens with those brown eyes.
It’s the thing of nightmares now.