Giving the Creep Patrol Someone to Catch

If I wanted to, I could see you every day. If.
You don’t have a particularly graceful gait. Sometimes, when I see you standing, your shoulders are drawn close together – a mildly arched frame for the back of your neck. Yet, I remember seeing you stand squarely, hands casually resting in the pockets of your jacket and unaware of those rushing around you. Maybe you’re not oblivious; maybe you just don’t notice me. Maybe this deliriously unrequited question for the universe could be answered if I grew anywhere from 3 to 5inches. Since the back of my head can’t provide a proper visual of you, I hold to my perception that you don’t smile very often. Though when you do, your face is shocked by how wide and confident it is – rather than an extension of how shy you seem. My experience of you is fleeting, but when I lay awake at night, watching my cliché ceiling with narrowed eyes, know that I’ll be looking up to you.