She waits for the bus, and I’m looking but pretending I’m not because I don’t want her to know she interests me. I’m made of stone, you see, and I don’t want no woman knowing she’s getting under my skin making me feel like anything other than the distant writer I claim to be. So while I’m walking past rolling my cigarette, she’s searching her bag for her purse and then her money or bus ticket. She looks sad all the time, which is probably why I’m drawn to her so much. Once she’s found what she’s looking for, she sits herself down on a bench and folds her hands in her lap. Stood several feet away, I light my cigarette and stare at the side of her face. Secretly, I’m willing her to turn and look at me, but she just sits there gazing straight ahead at the park across the road. Is she aware of how I watch her? Does she notice my eyes picking her apart every time she’s close by? Shifting from one foot to the other, I suck down the smoke and imagine touching her face. So soft. So heavenly. So different from the bag of bones I am. There’s an air of neurosis about her for sure, but the sense of mystery she carries is enough to captivate me whatever. Looking down at her feet, she sinks in on herself and slumps on the bench as I blow out a lungful of smoke while imagining some giant black wave raging inland, destroying everything in its path. If it were to appear on the horizon, would I grab her hand and attempt to lead her to safety, or would I kneel before her and place my head in her lap wishing for her to stroke my hair? I’m not quite sure. After a while, her bus comes and she gets up and turns around looking in my direction. Like the coward I am, I turn my back and walk off through the parking lot visualising that black wave washing everything away, and then I visualise those eyes of hers as black mirrors. Black mirrors that pull me in and show me for what I really am. Stuffing my hands into my pockets, a squirrel sits on the hood of a car eyeing me up while wagging its bushy tail. No doubt it’s a messenger. One of her many servants sent to keep watch over me.
Author S. K. Nicholas 
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