Lingering

I wait,
casually,
as though I'm not even waiting at all.
Shuffling papers, or
going through my purse, or
pretending to look at my phone, or
cleaning my glasses.
Silent explanations
for why I am still there, lingering.

I look,
ernestly,
for little reasons to talk to you.
Trifling questions, or
small reminders, or
something to make you laugh, or
things that barely pertain to you at all.
Lighthearted remedy
for spaces both empty and lingering.

I leave,
regretfully,
wishing for a catch and not a fumble.
When I don't get to talk to you, or
I say something silly, or
you don't ask for my number, or
what I'm doing this weekend, again.
Doubts and daydreams
both begging to know if I should stay; lingering.