This story is entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real events is purely coincidental.
In the first second of her smile, I forgave myself once more.
I forgave myself for the restless wandering of my thoughts.
Yet I knew the unease would return before long.
I never sought to conjure a chance encounter — she was simply there.
If the morning passed without her, noon would bring her to me.
If not, a brief slumber, and surely the afternoon.
Alright then — the evening, perhaps.
Well. Tomorrow, maybe, would be kinder.
She appeared. My eyes found hers, and hers found mine.
We both broke into a smile.
To glimpse that smile — that alone was enough to redeem the day.
From then on, I saw her every single day,
yet somehow, she could no longer see me.
“She must have grown tired of me,”
I thought, heartsick, watching her walk clean through me like I was air.
She was strolling beside a boy.
She waved hello to him.
He reached out and slapped her on the behind.
She sidestepped it. Thank goodness.
Oh — but then he tried again?
I knew I had no standing to feel a thing.
I steadied myself.
Did she truly not see me?
I pressed the question into my own chest.
The next day, at last, she noticed me.
She was walking shoulder to shoulder with a friend.
She turned my way — a soft smile, a nod, a gentle wave.
And I smiled back.
Once again, I forgave myself.
But what of the next time?
I am not worthy.
To stand beside someone like her is no simple feat.
And so, in the end, I never truly forgave myself at all —
for my powerlessness and my inadequacy.