noteworthy

You sit there, a little dazed, a little chill, and as contradictory as it sounds, maybe a little frantic. You tell yourself that it is never a wise idea, it is never idea. Eyelashes here, and there, you shy away from the touch of sunlight. The pencil between your fingers moistens from the gliding of your calloused tips. It's never a wise idea, it's never a wise---

But you run to him anyway. And you whisper to your chest, "jesus christ, why?"

He doesn't turn to you at first. After all, he's never really known you. You tap him at his shoulder, not as forcefully.

"Oh hey---"He seems a little confused.

"I thought you should know that i like you."

And it's silent for a while. Maybe as silent as you expected; his eyes widen a little because you know that he doesn't know how to respond. Your eyes meet for the first time in genuine alignment, you don't blink and you're suddenly aware of his gaze trailing down your pores.

"I thought you should know that I like you," you say it again, "because someone as wonderful needs to know that--"

You take it in--- his crumpled lose jeans and his battered rubber shoes, his dark toned arms and his prickly hat of hair. 'He's sometimes cute--- when the right angle of the light hits his jawbone,' you used to tell your friends.

"Because someone like you needs to know that you are wonderful. And i've combatted the fight for my dignity but you have to know, you have to know that you are wonderful."