I was about to leave the contemporary exhibit when I saw you. Dark blue polo shirt, off-green pants, brown moccasins and the cutest curly brown hair. You struck me as much as any artwork on display. (I wonder, are we all just performers?)
I couldn't say 'hi' because the relative silence of the museum atmosphere stifles that sort of interaction. Unless it's a tour, in which case, by all means, the docent will drone on and then ask you for your baloney interpretation. But we weren't on a tour. No. We were alone in one particular room for a long time.
Standing in the doorframe, I began sketching the wall featuring Roy Lichtenstein's Peace Through Chemistry I. It was bright blue accent to the otherwise whiter-than-white walls. Out of my periphery, I saw you make your way towards it. Along the way, you checked your phone and I felt a brief moment of sadness.
And then you sat down on the bench directly in front of the painting. Directly in front of my line of vision. Although we were at least 30 feet apart, and your back was turned, I thought we were sharing an intimate moment. So, you entered my drawing-- and for the record I felt slightly creepy for doing it. But you stayed there...a while. I thought maybe you could hear my pencil scratching the paper because when I stopped, you got up.
I walked further into the exhibit, hoping to muster up the courage to say something. Anything. After a few more rooms, I realized it was futile. So I left.
Your secret admirer,