Forget your personal tragedy.

Anonymous asked: At the last possible moment before I disappeared into the apartment, I faced you in the courtyard and poured out every beautiful, tucked away thought that came to mind when I looked at you. When the impulsive flow of my words ended, with nothing to hold onto but your level, slightly quizzical gaze, I ran. Taking the out offered by my need for appropriate footwear, I ran through the door, down the hallway and up the narrow uneven stairs, without space in my head for anything but my immediate goal.

I thrust my feet into running shoes, and with more concentration than I had displayed since my days in Kindergarten, I formed the bunny ears, ‘round the tree and tie. My hands shook. But I thundered my way down the stairs, the confidence of my steps belying the all over body shakes that betrayed my urge to be sick, desperately wishing that I could call back my words. But you were there, your lanky outline looking terribly out of place lingering on the brink of the doorway, framed by the ill lit, too narrow hallway. But you were still there.

It was all I could do to act awkward; be heart broken, play the jilted part, because I knew that after that, you’d be there. Looking terribly out of place, at the end of a dingy hallway, but you’d still be there. And with a flood of realization, came the unbidden thought that I loved you. Not the capital L, stomach butterflies, chocolates and roses love that I’d just announced. None of that, which had been a lie the moment the syllables met the air, but a small, unassuming lowercase love, a “know-your-favourite-kind-of-tea”, “complicit-grins-across-the-room” kind of love.

Because you’d still be there.

Oh anonymous, how you crawled into my heart! Will you reveal yourself?