<p>We're lustful birds. In adjacent cages. </p>
<p>We stonewall each other for fear of mutual rejection. Yet inside, we know that we wouldn't reject one another. We reach out to each other. Tiny gestures, unnoticed by others, put us on edge. What does she mean? What does he mean? </p>
<p>I glance, and she averts her gaze. I move to the adjacent desk. I lean in, and her breaths become shallow, faster. It's all right, I won't hurt you. Just talk to me. All right, a greeting's a start. Look me in the eyes when I talk to you. I know you love this gravely voice. Got even Morgan Freeman beat by a few octaves. So why don't you keep me talking? </p>
<p>The teacher interrupts us - or, more appropriately - me. I retreat. The bell dismisses us, and we leave without so much as a spoken farewell. </p>
<p>Home. 17 notifications; 5 messages. Who now? </p>
<p>Her? </p>
<p>Why so shy in class? All those faces too ... why didn't you make them in class? I'd love to see your ^.^ face sometime. </p>
<p>I'm not as forward as I describe. I am similarly paralyzed by fear. Irrational fear - the worst sort of fear. Perhaps one day the bars will give. I see your subtle efforts. But you're going to have to try harder - not to reach me, but to break your own limitations.</p>
<p>I almost wish to point out the irony of it all to her - our mutual, subtle, and feeble expressions of love. You've switched seats to sit next to me, but you still ignore me unless I talk to you. I've tried talking to you, but I'm still uncomfortable talking to you - at least without rehearsal. Everything I say, I must go over it in my head; hence, our mutual silence in the beginning of class. I'd hate to stumble, or run out of things to say to you; I don't want to talk to you and then break off into silence. Oh, the irony. If we had an hour alone, I'd point it all out to you.</p>