“Maybe this isn’t right,” she thought. She shouldn’t even be talking about this. Or maybe she should. She doesn’t know. But who knows anything anyway?
She had known you for quite some time now. She noticed all the quirks going on with your life and maybe you don’t know hers. Take the chance?
She takes a deep breath and looks at you from a distance. She sees you smile, laugh, or even just stare into some other space she can’t really tell. She watches you. And maybe when you happen to turn your head, she’ll quickly avert her eyes away from you and then confuse you and delude you into the idea. But as she pretends to be looking at some random direction, she’ll let the sun caress her face with its warmth until she becomes fully aware that all this must just be infatuation. Most probably, a fleeting feeling. She starts convincing herself. She stands up, turns around, walks away and rubs her hands together – even realized that her rough hands aren’t even worth touched by someone like you – maybe she really should give up the feeling. She feels sad.
I am not worth any at all. Not even the slightest of your attention. I am just fooling myself and wasting my time.
As she continues walking away, contemplating on life and wishing that heaven is a real place, veracity hits her. Or was it guilt? She
should must keep herself away from you. You are there, while she’s here. You live your life to the fullest, she lives hers one at a time. But is it really the reason? Nah. Way too far from it. She belongs to someone else. Yes, someone already owns her. Own? Is that the right word? And then veracity was replaced by disappointment. She doesn’t want to be one’s possession. No, she doesn’t want to be like a thing owned by anyone. She feels sad.
She arrives home, in the pure haven of silence and comfort where she truly belongs. And yet – as she lies down into the pleasure of her sheets, she breaks down for veracity (or guilt?) has hit her again. The sun retires and she’s still here. No, this isn’t right. I must not be entertaining such feeling (or thoughts?). Were they really just in my mind? Or is it what my heart truly feels? Whispering such churlish things over and over again to herself, numbing the pain of what cannot be. Stripping her mind from all the memories she had with you before, lessening the feeling of guilt and pain and confusion. Then she falls asleep.