this is not a poem

hey you, barman!


I like you. 
I mean, I find you very cute. 
like a puppy cute.
maybe you are a bit short. 
and a bit skinny.
definitely not the type I usually fantasize about.
even with your little glasses
I am attracted to you.
somehow.


I look into your eyes. 
directly.
I try to catch your eyes as well.
and talk to you, in my very own way.
and make you talk to me too. 
in fact, you do. 
sometimes you even smile. 
well, I must confess that I like making you smile. 
a lot.
then I smile a lot too.
I can't help it.


when I pay you, everything ends.
then I hope that you to make the move to talk to me again.
I wait.
but you don't.
maybe because usually you're busy. 
could be.
or maybe not. 
maybe it's just you don't like me. 
or maybe you are just shy, just like me.
I don't know.
how will I know?! 


maybe I like you because you don't make any move.
maybe if you make some stupid one, it will be all over.
maybe I won't like you anymore.
maybe I won't want you to talk to me.
or look at me. 
maybe I won't even want to go to that bar again.
maybe.
or maybe not.


how will I know?
how can I know?






I'll ask you out.