A Sloth Girl’s Love

Long ago, a morning or an afternoon,
exact time forgotten,
I was walking towards the auditorium,
with several others,
along the narrow hallway, that lined with
offices on one side, and administrative cubicles on the other.
I don’t know why I turned around, but I did.
There you were, at the end of the hallway,
your arm resting on the raised desk of the office secretary,
who was busy talking with a group of people, including you,
about something.
But you were not listening,
your eyes gazing at my direction from forty feet away.

It might be a mis-connection.
You might have stared at something or someone else.
I might have intruded on your revelry,
inadvertently.
Does it matter?
It’s you, forever, in my memory.

I’ve imagined your life for you, many times.
Most of the time I weaved a story about your life.
Often I was not in it, since I just couldn’t fit myself in.
I am a sloth girl, slow, lazy, bookish,
exertion often the last resort.
You are:
Let me think what fits you best—
a panther, a rabbit, a gorilla, quick in action.
I love the past and you yearn for the future.

I sigh, I pine, I negotiate with my perceived reality.
Well, if I am lucky, I might meet another sloth,
who will love me just like a sloth.

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