Wishful Thinking

I had the strongest feeling that I every time I thought of her, she was thinking about me.

I can’t say how I knew, but I did know.

I knew with certainty.

And I thought of her a lot.

I would find a fixed point in the sky — like the moon, a star, a passing cloud — and focus my thoughts upon it, that she would be focusing on the same thing at the same time.

I whispered messages on the wind, that it might blow in her direction.

I told my feelings to the birds, those gossips of the garden.

Not knowing for certain-certain she was thinking of me when I thought of her but wanting to know, I finally built up the courage to message her and ask.

Rather than overcomplicate it, I said simply:

Were you just thinking about me?

After getting an ice cream, I sat down on the sofa and waited for her response, looking at my phone.

Jumping at every buzz, on the edge of all hours.

There were a few false starts – messages from people I didn’t want to hear from, a push message from Domino’s, a delivery confirmation – until finally, it was her.

No

When I stopped looking at her reply, having given up trying to discover deeper meaning, I found my forgotten choc ice, as a puddle on the sofa next to me.

vss #47

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