I love the way you never look at me. I adore the way you don’t even know I exist. I worship the way you walk past me in corridors, without so much as a glance in my direction. I cherish the fact that you’ve never caught me studying the perfect symmetry of your face, your lake-sized eyes, the elegance of your arms, the thoughtless choreography of your legs. It’s perfect that you’ll never hear me speaking of your hair.
And I shall never pass comment on your dexterity when peeling an orange. That won’t be happening. And I will never complain about the way you reach up to hug him when he comes to collect you. All things considered, I am loving the way we will never be alone together, though sometimes, it’s true, I do imagine us going shopping for stuff. You could ask my advice. And I would unexpectedly understand the world and all its ways. How money works for example. And people.
But in truth, if you actually spoke to me, I would surely die there and then. On the spot. And this much I do know – I am the perfect coward. Much as I long for you I have no wish for an early grave. So the way I see it, this slow, unspoken, wholly unnoticed yearning buys me some time before the endless aloneness awaiting us, you and me both.