Prom Night Nerves - Part I

She is wearing a blue dress.

Every time I look in her eyes I see but the utter failure of my forthcoming actions. Every joke will come out wrong, every laugh unfitting, every syllable choked upon until they are left like breadcrumbs on a plate.  Being fully aware of this, I consider, for a moment, to let it be, to retreat, but try as I might, the fear of letting a potential miracle go untested eventually becomes too terrifying. And so, knees shaking, hands trembling, with a smile as steady as a leaf in autumn wind I pluck up the shards of my fading determination and walk towards her.  

The room is dimly lit. Upon my arrival this annoyed me somewhat, though as I grow ever nearer her on my already doomed mission, I take joy in the fact that not all that many people would be able to witness my magnificent failure. They might hear about it later, of course I am aware of that, but they would not be able to, here and now, taunt me whilst my normally quite substantial emotional guard is out for a wee.

She stands in an awkward angle, as if what ever way she turned, she would never be able to see me, not even if she would have looked. Oh god, please don't let her see me, for though a rejection without words would be both quicker and vastly less probable to be remembered, it would be like cutting the throat of a man already hanging in the gallows. I've managed to get this far, now for fuck's sake let me fail with honor.

She is wearing a blue dress, unaware of the fact that as I am nearing her, planning my move, imagining our conversation, my heart is already broken.