What am I passionate about? It might sound cheesy, but the only thing I am really passionate about is you. When I look at you, nothing else matters.
I remember the first time we met like it was yesterday. With a 6-pack in hand and a gallon of milk, I made my way to the register labeled ’10 items or less.’ The cashier scanned your last item – a dozen of eggs and you reached into your purse. It was one of those businesswomen carry – a black leather one that is large enough to fit a laptop. It made me wonder what you did for a living. Your high-heels matched your frilly blouse – they were both lavender. The tightly fitting black pants ensured that I noticed your fit but curvey figure.
You were still digging through your purse. Normally, I would have grown impatient, but things were different with you. At that moment I had no idea why that was, but I do know now – you’re special.
Your wavy, brunette hair rested gently on your shoulder.
“I’m so sorry.” You turned around and tucked some of your hair behind your left ear. “It must be here somewhere.” A purple stud adorned your earlobe.
“Quite a fashionista,” I thought to myself. “Here, let me pay for it.” I handed my platinum credit card to the cashier. The middle-aged woman behind the register looked at you for approval. She cleared her throat and looked behind me. A line was forming and she wanted to keep it moving.
“A-ha! Here it is!” You pulled out your card from your pants pocket and handed it to the cashier. You shot me a smile; you were blushing. While I didn’t know if it was from embarrassment or because you found me handsome, I chose to believe it was the latter.
“What are you looking at there, Harold?” Azalea asks as she walks into the study.
The binoculars leave my eyes a little too quickly for an innocent man. “I was just looking at the stars,” I reply, hoping my wife would not realize it was only a half-truth.
“Well, I’m going to bed. Come, join me.” She waves her robe’s belt and winks before walking away.
“I’ll be right there,” I call out after her and begin to bring the binoculars back to my face when the light in Lisa’s window goes out. “Damn it!” I curse a little too loud and hope that Azalea does not return. I had missed the moment when Lisa – that’s what I call you – looks out her window with longing before pulling the curtains shut and switching off the lights. It is as if she is looking for me. “I’m right here,” I whisper, placing the binoculars firmly on the windowsill and my hand against the cool glass. “We’ll be together soon,” I add before blowing a kiss at the window and heading to bed.
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