When you’re young,
and your heart falls for that special one,
you daydream about them, don’t you?
You notice them out of the whole crowd.
You watch, you know their routine.
You plant yourself, casually as you can
right where you know they come out of class,
or go to work, right up that sidewalk
as they come the other way—
you do it more than once—
so you can just happen to bump into them,
even for a fleeting conversation,
and maybe more, oh you hope,
a little more.
So the Beloved haunts your ways,
hoping for a brief encounter,
hoping, oh, hoping
for maybe a little more.