Loving Rain

If I would confess to the new girl that had moved in to the house in front of mine then it would go something like: “Hey, I’m the guy who lives across the street. Your balcony, where you do your leisure activities such as reading and watching, faces my bedroom window where I usually hang out together with my late father’s telescope and I pretty much spy on you with that telescope – I MEAN! NOT IN ANY PERVERTED WAY! I JUST, YOU KNOW… Read with you sometimes, or watch… Really depends on what you’re doing. So yeah… And oh, by the way, I’m really, really, really, in love with you!” But I fear that she would run away -- which she would probably do -- from me by the time I’d have finished talking (that is if I got lucky). Shit. I’m so screwed.