The Affliction

The affliction was now readily evident.

As the days progressed,
He found himself thinking
More and more,
About her.

At first,
It just seemed novel.

When he left his office
For the morning coffee…
He thought about
That crisp fall Saturday,
When she met him
At the corner café,
And he was mesmerized,
Watching her consume
Her latte and chocolate croissant.

Or, when he passed a beautifully dressed woman…
As he navigated throngs of passersby
On that crowded city sidewalk,
All searching for lunch…
And he saw not the woman physically there,
But her face,
And smile.

Then,

Novel,
Became something more…

Something more constraining.

At his desk,
He began to lose focus
On his work…
Wondering what she was doing
At that moment.

Rather than responding to email,
He constantly checked his inbox…
Hoping to see a note,
From her.

And when the phone rang,
He wished that it was only her,
On the other end of the line.

In the evening…
The symptoms worsened.

He mindlessly
Went through his chores,
Dinner preparation,
And office work,
Unaware of what he was truly doing…
Or not doing.

All he could think of…
Was her.

So he began to worry,
That maybe he was ill…

Maybe he wasn’t right…

Maybe his fixation was unhealthy.

Maybe, just maybe…
He was losing touch with reality.

But then,
A quiet voice whispered
In his ear
An alternative diagnosis
To his supposed affliction.

Maybe, just maybe…

She was the one.

Maybe, just maybe…

He was falling in love.

 

 

© 2018 W. C. Stacia, Jr.

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