Dear Michelle,
St. Patrick’s was a lifeless day, especially in Spain.
No one there was Irish and the sky was gray with rain.
Was bored in all my classes and, coming home, felt drained.
Thought I would stay in that night. Fizzle to a slow burn.
But my friend called me up that night. Said that we should go out.
Worrying about school work, I said I had my doubts,
But either I would go with him or die of social drought
(And I always had the option of making a quick return).
Stood outside an Irish pub with my friend and his girl.
They talked, giggled, and flirted like they were in their own world.
I’d play third wheel yet again as the lonely night unfurled,
But then I heard your voice and the night took a joyous turn.
While Gaelic songs jibbed from the bar, we heard you from behind.
You sang along and did a dance. All others watched in line.
The only one with spirit there! And Irish! What a find!
After I clapped along with you, the dancing would adjourn
Because you approached me then. Never saw a girl more pretty.
You asked about my clapping, I what brought you to this city.
So our banter had begun, both of us wild and witty.
Suddenly, loneliness was no longer a concern.
You told me you worked at a bank way back in my home state
But that you quit: not worth working a job you really hate.
Were back in school to study what you loved. Never too late!
A lesson too many people will likely never learn.
Then we all entered the pub. You went and got your drink.
Came back and asked me where mine was. I said I didn’t think
I could or else the next morning’s exam I’d prob’ly sink.
You said to me that fun times are something you have to earn.
So I went and got my beer. Lost you among the crowd.
Sought my friends and found them. They were just sitting around.
Found you dancing with your friends. So passionate and proud.
To dance with you right then was something I so dearly yearned.
Now normally I’m not so suave; I’m actually quite shy.
But a fun, intrepid girl like you wouldn’t want a tepid guy.
I knew that I would have to give socializing a try
And being quiet was a tactic I would have to spurn.
Maybe it was the beer I had, but I opened up right then.
Became a social animal and chatted up your friends.
You taught an Irish jig to me. We laughed and joked again.
The stirring events of the night arriving at a churn.
Then your friends wanted to leave. Bar hop the night away.
You with your friends had to go – with mine I had to stay.
It wouldn’t work for us that night; perhaps another day.
So I asked your name. A request I gave smiling, but stern.
You gladly gave it. Then you left. Still, I was so excited!
The thought that I’d find you again was one’t made me delighted.
I sang all the way home; my day’s wrongs the night had righted.
The world’s worries were dead to me like ashes in an urn.
But I could not find you again. I lost what I would seek.
Searched many ways on the internet, but prospects were still bleak.
Four hundred people with your name, yet none quite as unique.
Like seeking a four-leaf clover among a field of ferns.
Having no means of contact, your memory I stow.
Your joyfulness and passion are things I must now forego.
And though you’ll never read this, I’d still like you to know:
It really was a pleasure to have met you, Michelle Byrne.
