No. It's not about you.

by Jamie Sughroue Brown

i fluctuate 

between heady anticipation 

and nausea. 

it's been years (and I mean that literally) 

since I've experienced these feelings, 

and the accompanying awkward, hormonal, 

teenage sensation 

of a crush. 

shouldn't such a young word be rendered obsolete 

past the years of puberty? 

ahhh . . . but the semantic nature 

of the word 

seems so apt.

and - when I'm falling 

asleep, I can hear the echo

of his laughter, like the echo 

of rushing waves 

through a conch shell, pressed 

up to my ear. 

expectation and hope 

are the most painful elements 

of being

an aging crush-er. 

the realization 

that there are a finite number of people

in this world. 

pairing up

with every beat 

of my lonely heart. 

time is ticking away, 

as the old adage threatens

and I have so little to spare. 

i don't want to rush 

anything; but I wish 

the seconds of each minute 

i spend with you 

could lengthen, 



still I question:

do I just want to be 

with someone, 

or do I want 

to be with you?