I’m old enough to know better. But she’s beautiful and she’s here. Right by the overturned flower pot, surrounded by a veritable wall of followers and admirers, completely out of my league.

I avert my eyes before she sees that I’m interested, running through scenarios in my mind, shooting them down faster than I reach their conclusions. Standing around doesn’t work. I know that, on an intellectual level. But standing there works from a fear of the unknown level, and it always has. But maybe this time, she’ll turn and see me, maybe this time she’ll be intrigued by my seeming lack of interest. Maybe something will happen.

I dart my eyes over to her once more, and her guard has abandoned their posts. A guy’s there, someone I vaguely remember from high school. She’s smiling and laughing.

There’s no heartache, really. Just the standard resignation I’ve grown used to over the years. You can’t just stand around and wait for things to happen, I tell myself. You’re old enough to know better.