On Sparks

“We were never in love, but oh, God, we could have been.”

You are the last to leave my room, though I tried to nonverbally the whole evening to ensure that this was not my intention. We stand and talk about nothing, but it all sounds so clear when you say it. I do not know why you are still here in my dorm room or why I do not know what I am feeling. I am usually so able to remain outside my consciousness and stay logical, but right now I understand only that our words are knocking on a door we are not allowed to open. What we are doing is not flirting; at least, it is not flirting in the form that I am so used to seeing.

You see, what we are doing is the ghostly, also intangible version of flirting; whatever normal flirting is, cut in half, minced, ground, and then grated through a cheese grater after the customer says “Enough” after 0.5 seconds. It is so light that I can barely see it is there. I have only the slightest hint of confirmation when you say you should shower so you step outside my room.
You are standing in the hallway when you bend down to tie your shoe. I bend down too because I plan on untying your shoe because I want you to smile at me. But as I crouch down, waiting eagerly, starting intently at that damn shoelace, I notice you look up, your face much closer to mine than I think either of us expect, and your eyes are wide and outshine any other feature on your face. You stare at me with a slight grin on your face. This is when I know. Bad timing though because this knowledge takes over me and I freeze. I do not know where to look so I stand.

I do not think moments like this happen every day. We had moments of sparks while we spoke of nothing in my room, but this was a flare, brighter than any spark and just as quick to evaporate. But flares can leave scars on the surface. That is what you have done.

I want to think that this was all coincidence and that my search for something remarkable is polluting my thoughts, but I have to believe this was a real moment of electricity.

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