Windows: She I Can’t Resist…

There are parts of me, sewn in words, that act like windows… enabling others to see what’s in my head when I choose to share them. It’s in these windows that some of my deepest thoughts come forward. This entry is about a daily occurrence I have with a beautiful woman in my office.

So I dream, like dreamers do. About people, about things, about wishes and ideas. But each day that I come to work, I get a brief moment when I can daydream about a woman who I can never have.

This untouchable angel, who’s name is a four letter word that rings in my mind, works in my office building, just a few doors down from mine. Each morning, she walks by my cube. At first, it’s with her bike, as she drops off things in her office before changing into her work clothes after her cycling commute. Even with her helmet and gloves, she is a being of beauty and grace to witness and admire from afar.

She is tallish, about my height anyways. Long brown hair, and the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen on a human being. Fair skinned, she doesn’t wear any makeup, which is a testament to her incredible beauty. She walks with a kind of stroll to her movement, very calm yet sexually empowered, I know she knows that she is an attractive woman.

She passes me a second time to change into work clothes.

Funny, each time she walks by, she looks away from me as she passes my cubicle. It’s probably all too obvious that I’m an admirer of hers. But on occasion, I will catch her peeking into my cube, and all at once when she realizes that I’m at my desk, she will quickly glance away, but it’s too late.

She passes by a third time, duffel bag and coffee cup in hand. I have the urge to get up and offer to help her with her stuff, but I figure that would be too weird, so I just sit there, sighing.

Some would tell me to just talk to her. I tried once or twice, but it never panned out. Never more than a “Hi, how are you” kind of exchange. She has a very soft voice that almost whispers as you listen to her speak. Maybe it’s just me, but I feel like her voice matches her beauty — soft and elegant.

The funny thing about daydreaming is that no matter how much I know it’s not real, the thought has a real “feeling” to it. A kind of presence that can even create memories of events that never even happened. Daydreaming has a way of generating a stir in my mind that allows me to experience something that never occurred. A daydream has that effect on me — almost like being able to create my own reality for myself to indulge in.

The rest of the day gives me small occasional glimpses of her, like finding random seashells on a beach. I wonder what goes through her mind, as I selfishly imagine her thinking about me, knowing that the whole time I’m probably nothing more than a coincidence to her.

But life moves on, and I am content in my existence, not that I have a choice in the matter. But its fun to think about the fantasy anyways, even if it’s only in my head...

… cue Lionel Richie’s “Hello”…