The Woman In The Sewing Room

She’s a woman quite unlike any other
I see her nowadays only once in a while, when the time’s right
She’s been striking my thoughts like lightning through the night
Everything, to me, feels so new about her

I remember the first time our paths crossed
I could barely speak through the muffling across my face
Obviously my first impression wasn’t that big a scream or chase
But now, though, I don’t seem quite as lost

She’s only across the way, yet our lives too busy
The darkness across my heart still seems to threaten and loom
Ever since we met, she’s not quite left my thoughts and mind
Who knew the gal that caught my eye was the woman in the sewing room?

She’s got a near-deadpan but sassy sense of humor
As comfortable in leggings and dresses as she is in plain ol’ pants
Her time is crammed with that of fixing up clothes, and yet I can’t
Quite seem to comprehend how she manages to pull all of that off

Her voice isn’t too deep or to shrill, just bright enough with depth
And yet, I can never seem to remember exactly everything about her eyes
Part of me is afraid to look directly into hers, as I’m afraid of what she’ll see in mine
And if what she sees might scare her or motivate her to run off

I want to try, one more time, to make another first move
Thoughts of her tend to be fleeting, yet smiling, but in comes that mood
Of slight, yet humorous self-loathing that I can never get words to move
Past my lips and into the ears and mind of the woman in the sewing room

Part of me feels like I’m a kid with a playground crush as I’m writing these words down
This time, though, I know it’s real, this feeling that I’m starting again to feel
And I need to put these words down – if only I could gather the courage to come around

I want to take her hand, take her in a dance – I’ve heard her sing already
And I can’t see what harm there’d be in trying again, for my mood
Is still drifting with thoughts of this woman I’ve just written about
The one, the only, the woman in the sewing room…