And I ask myself- will she be my friend?
Will I be her friend, rather? I can answer the first
But only she can, the second. She sports fancy earrings,
Has a bracelet around her wrist, wears pink.
It may not exactly be my style, but that hasn't affected
The two questions. Sauntering in, she finds
A quiet corner for herself, and starts doodling.
I'm hardly a doodler. I'm in awe of that first one.
At a distance I can hardly decipher it
But I know good art when I see it. I inch
Closer, to spot a skull, a garland of red
And a lot of black. It's still beautiful
But I must admit, too ghastly for my taste.
Yet when I step away and watch her find
A quiet corner in the noise I loathe, I see
That she has found a blissful haven
In the tumult that could have enveloped her.
And the questions remain...
I fish out a storybook,
Crane down, and begin to read. I spend five minutes
On a single page- my attention has spread itself thin.
Now my eyebrows herald a frown, but my ears
Are wide open. I hear her speak, and conceal
A smile. She seems to be a free-speaker, while
I am a free thinker. Most of my conversations are
With my books and myself. Yet, why I smile,
Is because her voice reminds me of a trepid note
Of music- rich with depth but ready to shake
On disturbance. My questions remain rooted
To their spots. I hear her speak to an old-time friend
I listen. A long conversation- but tempered with
Understanding. She knows sarcasm, humor, wit
Laying them thin like topping on the pizza
That is her concern and care. Not a single
Demeaning word escapes her lips-
No patronizing phrase wedges through her mind.
Her honesty finally delivers the answer that has been
Veering closer. I jump up, take long strides
And find the distance halved, as she approaches-
When I catch her eye, we both know the questions
And now know the answers. But I think it's only fit
For me to ask- "Will you be my friend?"
Image Courtesy: www.healthyplace.com/relationships/building-friendships
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