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She watches me sometimes. The way I watch her. Her eyes have a longing, and I know it is for me. She doesn't know it, but she will. One day. She looks like an angel on that white sofa; she always does. I want to go to her, to show her what we have together, but I know the time isn't right. Not yet. She sees me, but not like I see her. We are two people living in the same world, leading completely different lives.
Even from here, I can see her curls framing her soft face like a halo. Always perfect hair. The kind of hair you want to reach out and touch, but you don't for the fear that it would frighten her. I think about it a lot. I think of feeling the softness of it against my fingertips. What would she do? What would she do if I just touched her one time?
We have shared this deep connection, the powerful kind that can exist through our eyes alone. And tonight, it is her eyes that make my heart ache. They are saddened. She is sad. Her life isn't what it should be, not what she deserves. I could give her so much more, and I will. I will do anything for her, anything, because that is how much I love her.
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