She nearly spat in His
face, arms rigid, fingers curled, because
it isn’t what He said – it’s
what He meant.
and what He means
to Her
(whether or not He knows it).
On the other side, He
seethes, tightening His jaw,
the muscles in His shoulders, because
She has no right to assume.
and She has no right to assume
this odd control over Him
(whether or not She knows it)
Enter Stage Left, Right.
Boy meets Girl. Boy
loses Girl. And then,
Act Five, Scene Six (also known as
the Epiphany, the
Revelation):
an imperceptible flick
of His eyes – that’s not in the script;
it is – and He is –
What? Asking permission?
(She doesn’t even know anymore)
He holds His breath
for an hour, maybe more, but
the audience is patient and still, grinning
ignorantly of the real-life
romantic comedy playing out before them
Her nod is
similar, unremarkable, to everyone
except Him.
The scripted kiss is
tossed out and replaced
by the Real Thing; and They live
happily
for now.
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