My Zing

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I'd heard once before that when you see them for the first time, you feel something.

I'd heard once before that that feeling is warm and fuzzy.

I'd heard once before that warm and fuzzy actually means love.

I'd heard once before that love is a zing.

 

 

 

He walked in, all confident. The new shiny toy.

 

I, however, was standing in the corner, licking my wounds.

 

People whispered, people asked, "Who is he?" "Who is that?"

 

Some knew. Some didn't. I was the latter.

 

The music was taught.

The steps were learned.

Eyes caught eyes.

Lips touched lips.

Wounds reopened.

Wounds rehealed.

 

As the buses started up, a message was sent.

"I'll love you for a thousand years."

His heart leapt, hers pounded.

As the buses stopped, bodies raced.

Arms found their partner.

Lips found a mate.

 

Thinking back, thinking now, thinking forward.

My heart still pounds.

As I reimagine him walking in, all confident. The shiny new toy.

As I reimagine standing in the corner, licking my wounds.

His eyes met mine, and for a moment, the world disappeared.

As I reimagine, the world disappears.

And it is him and I, as we should be.

 

Zing.

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