Hustlin

It was simple at first. I thought she was cute but refused to approach. So, I keep looking and searching for the class I’m assigned to be in, not realizing that she is standing at the entrance.

Fuck.

She’s different up close. Her eyes are a light grey and she bunches up her nose. She’s not cute she’s fucking beautiful and that’s when I knew.

Holy fucking shit, I’m gay.

But I kept those thoughts at bay. When she walked past a seated me I looked the other way.

Until this one day. When the world turned a flip and the air breathed fire in every word it spit. This one day. She walks in and she’s strutting. Slow-Mo bumpin, dress flowin. Head to toe gorgeous on some new shit hustlin.

She looks at me and smirks, still walking in all divine and shit. I look around to find who she meant. She slows down, takes her seat then turns and looks at me.

We talk, or she talks to me, I nod and try not to scream because she’s TALKING TO ME. Then everyone else arrives, takes their seats and smiles. The day start and I can already picture us walking down the goddamn aisle.

She’s good at what she does, has her notes prepared and ready. She writes diligently and her focus deserves commending. Biting her lip in concentration, she scribbles on the paper then looks up to gather more information. Oh My GOD I’M GAY.

I might as well have said the words out loud. She turns to me facing. Damn, did I?

She wants to know what’s up, to be honest I have no idea. The thought of speaking to her brings such fear into my poor little heart. I’m afraid if I talk now my heart will stop, she’ll provide aide, but out of shock it wouldn’t restart. Stubborn ass muscle.

I just stare. Maybe not the best idea, but I’m sticking with it. Assured in my decision I progress and turn back, think again try to relax, say the words, drop the stress. I reply. I think it sounds nice. It sounded sure, right?

She smiles, I laugh, nervous and terrified. Fuck.

Then she looks down the hall. I follow her line of sight and my mind must be playing tricks on me, she looked at me, right? She looked at me. But not the way she’s looking at him. The way her eyes linger and travel and the same time irks my nerves.

She leans over and whispers how she loves his eyes, arms, and smile when he laughs. I could cry, but I don’t. I won’t and I can’t. She not gay, and there goes my chance. I guess.

She’s still beautiful though, more than a single word can describe. She’s kind. Never once seen anger in her eyes. She’s free. Never fallen from chains on her feet, or the stimulants in her head, or the shit in her bed. She’s beautiful and straight, and that shit drives me insane, but it’s okay I guess. I’ll be okay.