I watch her walk by me every day.

She’s beautiful. I wish I could tell her.

I part my lips to speak, but I can never find the right words to say.

I want to confess my love. I adore her. 

My heart beats for her, even when she doesn’t feel the same.

Sometimes, she looks at me. I get so excited. My time to shine, finally!

That’s when I realize that she’s not happy with me. 

I never take it personally; I know she’ll love me once she gets to know me.

She’s so mean, though. She picks on me, points out the things she doesn’t like. 

It hurts when she talks to me that way, but I don’t mind it for long. 

One day she’ll be mine. 

I always know when she’s sad. She looks at me and neither of us say anything.

My body aches with desire to hold her close. I keep my distance.

It frustrates me to watch tears soak her pretty face. She wouldn’t feel like this if she knew me.

I reach out to touch her, and for once…

Finally…

She touches me back.

I can tell she knows. She knows who I am. 

Where I’ve been. 

Why I haven’t given up.

The feeling rushes through us, electric at the point of our union.

Her voice is sweet when she tells me. I can feel it all over.

At long last, she loves me. It feels so good to hold her.

She sees me for who I am, loves me for my flaws. 

Just like I knew she would.

I knew she would because she is me.