May I ask you something?
Yes, you, with the lovely blonde hair.
The kind that flows behind your back without a second glance to the wind.
The kind that shines a beam of sunlight upon your suitors like the only sunflower in a garden of weeds; a golden curtain of angelic simplicity.
What was it that drew him to you? Or should I even utter the question?
It's clear to see from your sparkling jewel eyes that you're as captivating as a Siren to a seasick Sailor.
Or maybe it's your height that stopped his breath in his lungs? The way you tower over us 'others', yet appear as fragile and dainty as a wispy feather. Did you simply dance on the wind each time the breeze blew you in his direction?
Maybe it was the kindness in your raspy voice--the kind that makes burly, sophisticated men weak in the knees.
Or maybe, it was none of that at all.
Maybe it was the light you brought him while he was cowering in the shadows. Maybe it was the vision of a bright future tucked beneath your cherubic curls.
I wonder if you would even know the answer to such a question as this? You've never shown interest, but that certainly didn't sway his eyes from locking on your name whenever the time came for his daily message.
Sometimes, I wish I had your life.
Sometimes, I wish I weren't just the short little hourly worker with too much on my plate and nowhere to put it.
Sometimes, I wish he would have never seen me in the momentary blink he took his eyes off you.
Because I would have never known what it could be like to be loved by him--what it would have been like, I should say,
If I were you.
