At night, I watch her.
Most evenings I simply lounge back on the oak tree in her backyard and wait for her to come home from work. On other, riskier occasions I even dare to stand in her front yard and stare off into the dim light of her windows (though this certainly does not provide the best view). I have only been caught once, which I did not realize until she’d turned her sprinklers on and screamed profanities at me. But I was quick on my feet.

If only she knew how I feel for her. Then she would not be so quick to pull the sprinklers on me. If only she knew how beautiful she is as she changes into her pajamas for the night. If only she knew how much I crave to run my fingers through that shining hair of hers. Oh, how I dream of feeling those silky brown locks against my fingers. If only she knew the blissful chill that runs up my spine every time I hear that buttery smooth voice of hers. How beautiful that voice would sound calling out my name!

Yes. If only she knew. Then she would be mine. Mine.