I watched you that day through the lens of my camera. You were whistling a tune I could not hear.
You didn't know I was there of course, you didn't even know me. You were kicking little stones on the gravel path as you walked, occassionally side stepping a puddle - although your jeans were dusty and frayed and you didn't look like the kind of guy that cared.
My kind of guy, I mean.
Unspoken conversations were lingering in my head. I could tell you all you asked me. And if you didn't, I would tell you anyway. I would watch for a sign you were growing impatient. And then change the topic, just like that, hoping you wouldn't notice how urgent I had been.
Just a day more, I would tell myself. Then I will change my world. Get a life.
And till then, let me stand by my magazine stand, old seller exasperated for he knows I only pretend to browse.
It's safer this way. If I peek and don't enter, I don't get hurt.