Watching From A Distance.

He stood there wedged between the tall, hard buildings and the crowd of people. He watched her fragile frame get smaller and more distant. He knew that he was setting himself up for a huge disappointment. She wasn't ready. She hadn't healed yet. She was broken, a delicate porcelain china doll that fell from it's pretty display case, smashed to a few pieces. She was glued back together but she still had some pieces missing. He knew he was going to get hurt, used. Everyone had told him that she was never going to be ready and in the back of his mind, he knew that the same thought was brewing. Would she ever be ready? Would she ever open herself to him? The way she did that night? Oh, that night. It was perfect. It was magical. It made him calm thinking about it. It made him think that there was hope. Hope that he clung to dearly. At the end of the day, he knew the risks. He knew that she may never be ready to heal, to let him heal her.. But he didn't care. Fact was this: He would wait. No matter what, he'd wait for her. And all she had to do was be ready. Be ready to heal. Willing to let him close enough to fit those tiny pieces back into her. He could make her whole again. All she had to do was let him. So till that time comes, he'll wait for her. So now there he was, watching her walk away into the crowd. Watching her with longing and hurt and pain and love. Watching her walk farther and farther away away from him. "Don't worry" he thought. "I'm not going anywhere."


...But he was so busy watching, so busy waiting for someone who may never reach him, that he never took notice to the petite figure standing some distance behind him...Watching him with tears in her eyes as she she prayed that he would turn around and see her. But he never did. She stood there in the crowd and watched and waited as the person she loved and cherished watched and waited on another.