You sit beside me. Your perfume cutting the air between my mind and the book covering my eyes. From my peripheral I see you shake, shake, shake your coat to the bench. Your friends join you. Their quibbering adds a new sound to the room, one so beligerent it pushes the verge of intolerable, but you. You must be beautiful. I have yet to look up, possibly catch your face in a quick glance. I could easily hide away in a subtle movement of eyes and a quick return to the belongings in my lap. I’m writing this. You don’t know. This is my nature. You are a quick fix of inspiration, and you will never know. I look up. You’re beautiful.

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