Increased Odds

I drift fearfully and hopefully by your house,

My steps unsteady, my breathing quick,

Knowing I am increasing the odds

Of our clandestine, impossible reunion.

The obsessively logical part of my mind

Takes over and begins calculations:

If you are outside for one hour a day,

And I take five minutes a day to wander past,

And add to this the probability that

Both occurrences fall between 3:00pm and 8:00pm,

Then surely, eventually, those moments must overlap.

Surely, eventually, I will have my chance

To fix old mistakes or make new ones.

But logic has failed me

Because all I know is what I don’t know:

What am I so afraid of?

The cruel judgements, painted smiles,

And raw feelings of such a meeting?

Or the possibility that we will simply

Never see one another again,

And you will be nothing more than

A dog-eared, dusty photo buried in the closet,

Lost memories of a person I used to know?

My legs have moved me woodenly

Away from your house and this now-gone chance.

I twist my head around and, for one last time,

Search frantically for the slightest sign

Of you behind the wall of trees.

I turn the corner, both disappointed and relieved,

And whisper, See you soon or see you never.

Only the odds know the answer.