She entered. She looked at me and smiled.
“Hello,” she said.
Up the stairs she went, and my eyes followed. I thought I saw her take a peek back at me. Had my eyes lingered too long? Does she know?
As she advanced up the stairs, she disappeared from my line of sight, and made her way down into my imagination, where my thoughts on her continued.
How I wish she knew what I thought about her. But then again, how glad I am that she doesn’t.
Love is funny that way, in that you never really know what you want.
And it’s even funnier when you really think about it, and realise that not knowing what you want is — oddly enough — really what you want.
It’s a joy in pain, in suffering.