Come, scream my name as I fly down the hall chattering like a bird, my hair soaring like wings. You can see me. I pretend not to notice the world, even though I do. It's just easier this way. I spot you on the stairs, Just a glimpse and my veins turn to ice, rooting me to the spot. You infuriate me and criticize my every word. If I were a Jane Austen character, I might find you irritating. I might find you slightly jerkish. I would certainly not find you endearingly charming. I certainly don't see you as such, where did you get such a ridiculous idea? You're just a possibility, a marked-out one at that. Not yet real enough to hazard a guess. All I know is you're different from anything I've ever encountered: A peacock in Antarctica, A shaft of sunlight in an attic, A diving stick in the shallow end, Coffee, drunk black, when the barrista serves me creamer and all I wanted was a taste of it undiluted and strong. All I know is one day, I'll look outside my bubble and up the stairs and there you will be. I won't look away. You won't either. Then my face will turn the color of tomato soup, I will find it becoming increasingly more difficult to breathe, and everyone's eyes will pierce through me like tissue paper. I will fly down the hall, chattering chattering like a bird in a cage. I will pretend not to notice the world. I will pretend not to notice you pretending not to notice me. It's just easier that way.