Looking back into the years when I was this awkward little person - not that I am not one now - I cannot help but remember the days when I would look into his windows, more often than not, unlid. Once every few months, the lights would be turned on and I would know he was home; and I would wait, most impatiently but careful not to be noticed for his regular seat to be filled with his presence. I am sure his presence was not anymore electrifying to any other person in the room, but it seems to radiate towards me. Nudging me to turn my head every moment or so.
Now that feeling is gone, I have gotten rid of that box of a long dreamy crush. I have grown out of the years of awkward fantasies and idealistic dreams. I stepped away from the beautiful world I thought I had lived in just to see another beautiful place, cold, hard and but a bit less beautiful than the one that I had lived and breathed in. A place so idle yet engaging; so engaging that it is to be missed to do justice for the sake of its beauty.
Just as I stepped into my old world, that heavy humid air swam with such force that seemed to desire to burst my lungs from within. My head tipsy and my feet light. But the first thought in my mind were who is looking through to my window. Who is waiting for my light?
My foolishness and vanity. Who are you, the other me, the other foolish little person who waited so long, so hopefully for me?
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