The Look of Love

If the book of love is long and boring, the look of love is rarely so. This morning I had the dubious pleasure of being spectator of a missed match as profound as was I watching Dr. Zhivago. I was honestly tempted to start whistling Laura’s theme, but couldn’t think of the melody.

I take the bus in the morning, and due to issues with my normal buslines, I know have to take a bus in between my normal busses. Getting into this blasted second bus that I usually share with an assortment of drooling idiots and human flotsam (that last category I consider myself a proud member of, but not at 8 in the morning (because I am hardly human at that time (if ever))) this morning my beauty appreciating eye noticed a blond young man with absurdly blue eyes. This was as may be, and not really interesting as I have my own beautiful man at home and little need of blue eyed men on busses, so I launched myself into the fray of finding the least droolcovered seats and took out my book.

I noticed at the next stop that BEB (Blue Eyed Blond) was roughly in my line of sight. I also noticed that he was sort of immediately in the line of sight of a dark haired boy that had just entered the bus. This was a fact that was not missed by DHB (Dark Haired Boy) as he was basically rooted at the spot.
It was seriously beautiful to see. This new boy obviously immediately infatuated with BEB, but since this last was looking out of the window DHB could do little more but standing there with brown eyes melting over the object of his sudden affection.
Checking himself he turned round, at which precise moment BEB looked around as well, caught DHB in profile and the same situation basically happened in reverse.
BEB looked at DHB’ back and profile as a drowning man looking at a lifeboat, and with the recognizable hopelessness that comes with complete and utter love and the uncertainty of how to achieve it.

For the remainder of the bustrip these two managed to continue not looking at each other with a precision that would have put teams of synchronized swimmers to shame. When one turned, the other looked, and they were constantly split-seconds from noticing the other mirroring their grownng despair. Had but one looked a second longer they would’ve really seen each other, and who knows what would have happened. Every romantic fibre in my body screamed at life’s dishonesty at keeping these two apart, and at the same time all those fibres rejoiced at the idea that this type of drama hasn’t left the lives we lead today.

I hope they met up at the last stop and exchanged shy smiles and glances, they looked like they would have been a very nice couple, but in my head it is inevitable that they met up, and are already well on their way to their first cup of coffee.
It was like watching a really sweet romantic movie, frustrating, gladdening, uplifting. Now I am at work, waiting to go home and have my own lovey moments with the guy that luckily for me DID look the right way at the right moment, and has been looking that way a good many times after that.

For now, stripes at “follow your heart”,

Kevin