Skip to main content

The Girl at the Party

I worked so hard to avoid your gaze,
afraid that if our eyes met
that there would be something there.
A glance, a look, a spark.
I was pulled aside to have a word,
trying my hardest to look at my shoes
but when you finished your question
and I looked up to answer…
It happened.
That glance, that look, that spark.
Your eyes the deep color of chestnut,
a bright and beautiful amber
that glimmered in the light.
I could see into them as we shared
that tender, unspoken moment.
My heart skipped a beat and
my breath was took.
Our eyes had locked
and my worst, best fears were realized.
I brought my eyes down to see
your delicate lips raised in a smile
that matched the smitten flutter in my heart
and the simple grin on my face.
I realized that we were inches apart,
our eyes locked once more,
and then we remembered ourselves.
Sometimes, I’d prefer to forget.

Comments

oh you hopeless romantic you :P
Unknown said…
That's what they tell me...
hi. nice to meet you.
Unknown said…
That is a goal I should set. I was recommended by max rebo. Isn't that the name of the bandleader in Episode IV? Anyway, he left a comment on one of my Examiner articles. I understand you're an examiner as well. I also blog here. Some short story/essay stuff, some just "stuff."

A well put together blog.
Pat at a loss said…
B, this is your conscience speaking: Does your wife read these works? What a contrast from your earlier "periods."

I had trouble with "my breath was took" Poetic license?

Here's a bold confession: I can always think of a personal connection to your themes from my long, wanton life. The difference is I am scared to write them! PBGJ
S. Sable said…
Thanks for sharing your work! I look forward to getting caught up!
Unknown said…
i am a die-hard romantic too...i love your work!!! cheers:-)

____________________________________

Stationery Magazine

Popular posts from this blog

The Missed Opportunities of Days Gone By

“Hello?” I said into the phone, accepting the call from a number I didn’t recognize. “Hey,” the feminine voice on the other replied, as though I should know the sound of her voice. At a loss, I said, “Can I help you?” “It’s Brooke.” Her name stopped me. It couldn’t possibly be her. We hadn’t spoken in years, a decade perhaps. “Brooke?” “Yeah, Brooke Baker. This is Mark, right?” Jesus Christ. It was her. “Yeah, it is Mark. Brooke. Wow. How are you? It’s been a long time since… well… since anything.” “I know.” “So, how are you doing?” “Okay, I suppose…” Her voice belied her words, though. Something was up. “I… It’s just been so long and I guess I wanted to hear your voice.” “I don’t think I had a number for you. Ever. I offered a couple of times, but…” “I was a brat back then.” And that’s how a random phone call turned into a two-and-a-half hour catch-up session. We spoke of everything under the sun: people we still knew, how different we were, h

Anatomy of a Scene: The Third Man

It's time again to break down a classic scene. One that's well-written and, in my view, a fine example of excellent craft. I've done some of these articles from books (like The End of the Affair   and Starship Troopers ) and other movies (like Citizen Kane , City Lights , Raiders of the Lost Ark , and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid ), but now it's time to take a look at a scene from The Third Man . It blends the best of Orson Welles (as he's in the film and drives this scene) and Graham Greene, who wrote this particular screenplay. Before we get to the scene, we need some context. The Third Man is a tale of the black market in Vienna, just after World War II. It's about a cheap, dime-store Western novelist named Holly Martins (played by Joseph Cotton) and his friend Harry Lime (Orson Welles.) Lime offered Martins a job in Vienna, so Martins leaves America and arrives, only to find that Harry Lime is dead. Penniless, without a friend or reason to be

The End of an Era and a New Beginning

It's been a long time coming, but I think an upgrade to my web presence was long overdue. I began this blog in 2005 and it's served me well over the last 13 years. My goal in those early days was to write a short story every month. Back then, that was the only writing I was doing. This website, then called "Bryan's Short Story Corner," got me into a regular writing habit. One that I still maintain today. I hoped it would help me get eyeballs on my words and, looking back at some of those early short stories, I shouldn't have wanted any of those eyeballs looking. Today, my Patreon fills that void. There is a dedicated group of supporters there that help subsidize my ability to write short stories on the regular. After I started publishing books, this blog morphed into a place to talk about my projects and writing and it worked well enough for that for a long time. But now I have Twitter and Medium for those functions and they have much cleaner and easi