‘If there was any hope she could love me, she would have looked my way, given some sign…’ He mentally moaned behind his paper, watching over it’s edge as she slowly moved along the street. In fact, every movement she’d made since noticing him had been choreographed for his benefit.
But of course, he didn’t know that.
‘Why doesn’t he look up, say hello, anything? Instead of just staying stuck inside that stupid newspaper?’ She fumed silently, as she sauntered down the street, glancing in the shop windows and fixing her bangs with careless movements. In fact, he hadn’t noted a word of that paper since the first step she’d taken onto Rue Amour.
But of course, she didn’t know that.
The little old lady across the street, selling red geraniums in terra-cotta pots, smiled. She didn’t say anything about the way of young love she’d been observing for years, the same thing in different people.
But of course, she knew.
xx sappy. i've turned into a vague francophile lately. i'll hopefully be posting something more productive soon xx