The way I caught you
out of the corner of my eye,
but ignored you.
Until you had crossed the library
and stood next me and said
"Do you want to talk about dead birds now?"
Of course I would.
You sought me out.
I would love to ignore
my twenty pages of Kant reading
and instead discuss arcs
of great deathly birds
with you.
The way you
stuttered and stumbled through
half of your sentences
and got all intense and quiet
like you do.
I feel like it hadn't been
like that in a while.
A nice quiet
and small words
over truly intriguing things.
How every conversation
we have lingers.
The lovely silence that
fell between us
as we both read,
our respective
space between.
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