Expectations

I try not to imagine

the moment
(a
sun-warmed,
summer
afternoon
brushed by
a light breeze
and topped with
a cerulean
sky)

you
(a
charming,
young man,
tall,
but not so much so
that I can't
tousle
a loose
lock of hair
that I've been told
tends to stray
into your
eyes)

meet
(beside
a weathered,
wooden bench,
lost among
the shadows
of the aging
evergreens
that stand
sentry
by the
solemn
church)

me
(a
short,
young woman,
too heavy
for my height,
with the tropics-tanned
skin of my ancestors
and uncertain eyes
gazing into yours,
still in disbelief
that you
actually
came),

and we
(who've
only spoken
voicelessly
over a web of wires
while the world
around us
slept)

discover
(standing
face-to-face
in awkward
silence,
as the branches above us,
with the passing wind,
quietly cackle
at our
discomfort)

the other
(who
we've only
known
through the
key-stroke stories
shared
until the world
around us
woke)

was nothing we expected
(despite
the unbridled
imaginings
of our
minds'
eyes).