I love her. Every little thing about her.
She’s talking about her day as we sit here drinking coffee. I hear her and try to listen, but I mostly just watch her. I can’t help it. The way she moves her hands when she speaks, the way she looks away when she’s embarrassed, the way her lips curl when she laughs—it’s mesmerizing.
There’s a faint crease at the corner of her eyes and a small dimple when she smiles. Her glasses slide down her nose, and she pushes them back up—so adorable. So effortless. Everything about her is effortless.
The noise around us seems to fade away into the background when she’s around. The smell of fresh scones and coffee beans fill the air. People come and go, but I only see her. She takes a sip of her drink, tucks her hair behind her ear, and keeps talking, unaware of the way she fascinates me.
How did I ever deserve you? You’re perfect.
I love how you can throw anything on and still take my breath away. But it’s not just your looks—it’s your mannerisms, your laugh, the clothes you wear, your personality, your energy. It’s the way you speak, the way you pronounce certain words, the way you wrinkle your nose when something doesn’t make sense. The way your voice rises when you’re in disbelief. It’s everything. I’m obsessed with you.
She checks her phone and sighs. “I have to get back soon.”
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. I don’t want her to leave. I don’t want her to go back. I don’t want this to end.
I get weak every time she’s around. I respect and admire her so much. I never knew what love meant until she came into my life. She changed me. I’m a better person because of her. I want to be the man she deserves.
I’ve forgiven myself for what I did, but I can’t change the fact that I hurt her—and for that, I’m sorry.
She stands, gathering her things, and my heart aches. I follow her outside, keeping my distance. So much noise, so many people, so crowded. The world keeps moving forward, unaware of my pain.
I stand here waiting for her to turn around for a kiss, and she does. She looks back with her perfect smile, grabs his hand to hug him, and kisses her husband goodbye. She tells him she loves him, and he says the same.
And then—just for a moment—she glances my way. Does she see me? Does she care? Or am I just another forgotten memory?
She tells him goodbye, and then she walks away.
I don’t follow her. I don’t call her name.
I just stand here, alone, watching—while she moves on.
