This is more of a short story prose thing, but it's not fiction.
My mind is never on the task at hand. My hands are shaking as I gaze down the ail, watching you behind you're counter. I wonder what you're thinking; if you're thinking of me. It's so hard to read you. I start looking for an excuse to talk to you. I find some trash behind a box of shoes and walk toward you as nonchalantly as I can which is so hard because the sight of you makes my heart leap within me, it's sort of like it's doing hurdles. So there I am strolling up, you grin at me and I grin back my heart racing and butterflies are fluttering around in the pit of my stomach. I toss the paper wad in the trash and lean against the counter looking into your soft brown eyes that melt me and hanging on your every word. You start telling me a funny story and you laugh that cute little laugh and flaunt your perfect smile. If you only knew what you were doing to me inside. I don't want to leave your presence. I wish for your touch, something, I just want to know and I'm too scared to ask or to act. So I go back to my department not completely unsatisfied.
I ponder. I've never felt this way before. You make me feel so girly and I don't know what to do about it. I don't even understand it. I'm so nervous around you. I can't speak clearly, I tug at my shirt and lean from side to side. I can't control myself. I can't stop thinking about you. I'm consumed. I want to tell you but I never will, so I wait.
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