Asking

When I was about four I went to my first birthday party. We sat at
a big table eating sandwiches, jelly, cake. They poured a cup of tea
but there was no sugar. I always had sugar in my tea. I didn't know
how to ask for it. I was afraid to say anything in front of so many
strange people. So I drank the whole cup of tea - bitter and
sugarless, hating every mouthful.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Many years later…

I wanted to be near you, involved with you - but didn't know how. I
didn't know what to say. There was no approach I could make, no
small talk or opening. Wanting it so badly only made it worse.

Sometimes when you couldn't see me I was able to watch you.
Whenever you were in the room I was conscious of where you were
without looking at you. Once you stood near me and I felt your
breath on my neck.