She likes him and I can tell by the way she brushes her hand across his shoulder. He doesn't notice it, though, never does, never will; or maybe he does but doesn't acknowledge it. Either way that's their moment frozen, her dance hovering around him, his dance pretending not to notice or not pretending to notice.
Every day I used to see them at school going through the same motions and I would think, hey, that could be happening in twenty years, as some stable representation of an unstable situation. But more often I think about how we use our experiences as rulers and measure the size of the world with our own small bare feet. Forgive me -- it's spring and that gives some helplessness to the gamut of emotions that run along your spine.
He comes back from a country and says it's wonderful, amazing, beautiful, the love love thing. Love the world the food the smiles. And that's all nice, you know, all good but that's still the love-love syndrome. He's in love, you know, still in love. Nobody here goes to Canada or Kansas and says It's wonderful, amazing, the people are beautiful. It's exotic love, man. The people the food the smiles. Love-love. Transcends everything and it's bad because of that and it's okay because of that.
Still he's still in love and she's still in love. I guess it's okay. Who's to blame? Go marry Japan or Antarctica, Peru or China. I hear India is a beautiful bride this decade.