48. Maybe

It's funny that we both steal glances until there's nothing left to take. I have to wonder when I see you looking out of the corner of my eye, but when I look back you scatter, and maybe it was nothing. Still, when you look at me I smile, trying to hide that I'm thining about you too. And maybe it's a little bit of you, too; warming the corners of my heart, my grin crinkles so naturally with your gaze.

Someday you'll be mine.

Someday. Maybe.

And the words - the ones I never seem to find - they've never come easier than when I'm with you. Somehow when we talk the words flow out like water, I never go thirsty when we're together. The roller-coaster rides, the 80's rock-and-roll, tales of you, your sister, and your acoustic guitar bubble past your lips, over the dashboard, and straight to me. Oh, I could drink for hours if you're the one pouring. It's so natural I didn't even catch it – the way my head might fit against your shoulder, the way that your gray hoodie might fit next November, the way your fingertips might feel against my skin.

Someday we'll make it happen.

Someday. Maybe.

Because when I look at you I can't help but think these things. Maybe you call my name so often because you like the sound of it in your voice. Maybe when you're looking at your fingers you think about how mine will fit in between, maybe when you watch me walk to the door you think about walking me there yourself. Maybe you feel exactly the same way that I do, and maybe I'll never know.

Or maybe I will. Someday. Maybe.

Please?