• when i first saw you,
    i ran.

    you scared me.
    your happiness -- it just. . . poured off of you. you were blinding headlights, standing in the line at seven eleven.

    i should have frozen up. i should have been in complete shock, paralyzed from head to toe. . . but instead, i ran.

    i've always enjoyed running. my feet hit the pavement rhythmically, and after a while it hurts. my body aches, and my lungs need air, and my heart's pounding, but if i stick it out, i feel
    A
    L
    I
    V
    E
    .

    but you. you filled me with adrenaline. you filled me with. . . i don't even know what else. whatever it was, it was big; there wasn't room left for anything else. i wasn't running out of fear, even though that was what i felt. i wasn't running because i could. no. i bolted out of that gas station so fast that i stumbled. . . because i had to.

    but you've found me. i'm sitting here, at ihop, in a booth, alone. you take the seat across from me. i look up from my hands.

    i have to run.

    i can't.

    you smile. if i could feel it, i'd know that my heart skips a beat.

    you:
    hi.

    me:
    ....

    you: i've seen you around at school. you're the writer, right? amanda?

    me:
    ....

    you: i love your work.

    me:
    ....

    a song comes on overhead. you look around, and start tapping a little to the beat. i lower my head to hide behind my hair. i don't want you to see me smile.

    you: you know, you're pretty quiet.

    i don't reply.

    you: i won't bite.

    your tone gets friendlier.

    you: you're a pretty dark writer. is there a reason?

    no.

    you: are you always this quiet?

    basically, yeah.

    you: do you not like talking?

    it's just-

    you: maybe you can only speak through your writing. is that it? do you only like your voice then?

    exactly.
    i lean on my arm, but continue to hide behind my hair. i can only see your outline this way.

    you: i'll take that as a yes.

    you look around.

    you: do you mind if i hang out with you?

    me:
    ....

    i shift. i sit up straight, and look at you. . . but no eye contact. i can't.

    you: i'll take that as a yes.

    me:
    ....

    you laugh. hey, can i get a recording of that? it'd be a bestseller, and i'd keep it to myself. i wouldn't tell anyone.

    you: call me chicago.

    my eyes narrow slightly, but in a questioning way. i don't notice it, but my head tilts to the side slightly.

    you: tomorrow i'll be new orleans.

    you're inspiring me. i stand up. you follow as i walk out.

    you: where are you going?

    me:
    ....

    we get to my truck. i don't get in, but just grab my notebook. i close and lock the doors before taking a seat on the pavement. only a few moments after, you sit next to me.

    in my smooth but messy handwriting, it reads:

    inspiration

    when i first saw you,
    i ran.

    you scared me. . . .