Going on 22

He was so hard to read. His face expressions, his demeanor, his subtle mysterious smile... Everything bout him was so hard to decipher. His words were all I could go on. He said he liked the gift. He said he liked the strawberries and creme. He said he didn't like the cold black coffee. He said he liked NYC. He said he loved the hudson. And that's just it... The ONLY thing I could decipher was his love for the Hudson river. I could literally SEE the peacefulness wash over his face when he told me how his friends and him would waste away entire evenings sitting in front of the Hudson river. and thats bout it...

It was completely opposite to me. No squeals of excitement, no hyperness, no constant high pitched babbling... nothing. it was more of a deep, low, smoothly flowing murmur, a nod of acquiscence here and there; acknowleding his likes.A crooked suave grin with his chin lifted upward to display humor or lightheartedness, or a fleeting powerful glance when our gazes met like he was about to dive into my eyes and come out a victorious warrior with a prize of figuring me out... it was ALL of that. The whole mysterious aura around him was impenetrable. He did talk bout his life, his pets, his home but the calm look never left his face. All I had were his words to go on...

It was perfect. It kept me on my toes... kept me thinking. Kept me wanting to observe him. Whenever he would look down to take a sip of his bitter black coffee, or whenever he bent down to pick up the strawberries and creme, I would quickly run my eyes from top to bottom. Tryin to take in his dark blue cotton shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his blue, slightly faded jeans, and his brown shoes.

I observed the way he sat, completely confident. Fearless. Especially when he sat across from me in Starbucks. A cool posture. A slight slouch that every young person has nowadays, but he seemed to hold himself up with a subtle sort of composure. I saw how his muscles flexed in his arms when he picked up his backpack. His eyes were small, not expressive at all. But whenever he was trying to remember somethin, he would roll them, and part his lips a bit, thinking hard...

His smile... I have no idea how to even start to describe it. I couldn't understand it at ALL. It was crooked, lopsided, very handsome... The grin... always the grin. Never a hearty laugh. I haven't heard him laugh at all. Maybe give me a small chuckle, but not laugh. And it makes it even more mysterious. Makes me think, "To wht extent did he feel tht humor? The small chuckle doesn't tell me anything". Or maybe he just didn't find anything that amusing to give a hearty laugh. Or maybe my conclusions are all wrong...

I enjoyed every minute... Listening, laughing and talking. I spent the entire time trying to figure him out. I couldn't... Maybe I was trying too hard. Maybe I just can't figure people out. Maybe nothing I just said has anything to do with him.

So many maybe's... So many possibilities...

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"Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities. Truth isn't."
~Mark Twain