She dances along to school, kicking along the gravelly, well-trodden path. Note the youthful flip of hazel hair, the bubble of laughter foaming from her lips. Soon she will be dancing all the way to your heart's doorway and you won't be able to resist your calling-out for her.
Mother told you that feeling such urges are beyond normal, really. To smear kisses onto that wrinkle-free, placid face before it is invariably tainted by time, lined with a woman's confidence and feminity.
In class, you couldn't help but notice her perfect scores as she stole past, heartbeat quickening at the sudden closeness and the gentle way those pink lips curve into a smile. You catch a whiff of her sweet scent too, smelling faintly of strawberries sitting in the morning sun. You could only stand there, caught in a spell of musky sweetness and staring blankly after the diminishing pit-patter of feet, thinking of how she is beyond your grasp, like a fairy you can never catch, the once-poignant scent of strawberries now fading out of memory.
"I'm sorry," she said apologetically. "But I'm not searching for love presently."
And that day when you all graduated, her smile lighting up the day, you knew you'd never see her again, soaring out of reach into unexplored heavens.
Letting her go means eternal torture, yet you'd yearn for her as the deer pants for the water-
And though you knew you'd always yearn for her till your very last breath-
You couldn't do anything, save for standing there, barely breathing like a scarecrow robbed of air.
