Her I remember her long brown hair, Her laugh, and that enlightening smile, The way she looked, standing there, Surronded by peers and admirers. Then I would walk up, And she would turn and smile, Saying "Hi", and watching. I would smile back, Answer her greeting. I would join the group, And insert my comments, But I am always aware, Of her presence, The sound of her voice, The sight of her, standing there. And when I am home, I think back about her, Remembering how she spoke to me, What kind of inflection she used, And try to discover, Her true feelings for me, So I would know how to act. Finally, I would call her, And just talk, and I would absorb, That voice, and the image in my head, And I would bask in her image, Dreaming, and still talking, Thinking, trying to voice my inner self, But never having the courage, Even after all of this time. And finally, one of us would have to go, And I would hang up the phone, Hanging on every word she had said, And mentally punishing myself, For what I had left unsaid, Because I had waited so long, And I may have to wait so much longer, To finally hold her in my arms, And to know that she felt as I did, So that I could finally rest free of mental torment.