Dora Guo

He walked on the left side of Dwight; 

She frequented Chapel but kept to the right. 

He had a childish sense of humour;

She stood at the height of a small minor.

He loved fleabag, anime, and maybe even a quick game of chess;

She stuck with Truffaut, Allen, and just a smidge of Wes. 

They’ve never crossed paths. 

What an interesting twist of fate, 

That she was assigned a seat next to him, 

In bio too, the one thing they both hate. 

They scribbled away, him using his left and she using her right;

She popped a peek at his quiz.

How does that saying go? Out of mind, out of sight? 

He turns his cheek, and gives her a look,

“We’re in college now, shouldn’t you go by the book?”

She looks down and nods, 

“I don’t know, does that make me a crook?”

She slips him a note, folded neat and delicately,

“It’s my number” she says, “evidently”.

He picks up the note and tears it in two,

I guess he prefers goody-two-shoes, who would’ve knew?

She smiles and laughs, unsure what to say,

It was his idiocy that led her astray. 

“I’m sorry for peeking” she whispers apologetically,

“But I think you’re swell” she adds, pathetically. 

He looks in her eyes, deep and intently,

Then he fixes her hair, oh so gently.

A “your mom” joke looms on the tip of his tongue, 

Perhaps they weren’t meant to be, since she’s so high strung. 

What a meet cute that would’ve been,

Give it a couple months, they could’ve gone to Berlin. 

But now we’re here. 

He’s left, 

and she just doesn’t feel right. 

Tiffany Ng | tiffany.ng@yale.edu