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...about my Norman Bates behaviour. Further up the road, a little to the left, a single room is lit in a house around 75 meters away. A young couple, wine in hand, dance carefree through the thin glass. I try not to focus on this, but it seems to be the only joy available.

Just when I had been ready to give up this torturous charade, she wisps by. Not a petit girl, though she carries an air of grace and playfulness. This wasn’t what had fuelled my attraction to her though merely something I understood later. Her fiery blond hair dances on her shoulders, and I am disregarded. What was I hoping for? Maybe just a glance toward the window. If the light had have been on this would be improbable. But had she even turned her head toward mine I would have achieved something. In fact I wouldn’t. The truth is, for the remainder of the evening I would have been contempt. However, would wake up emotionless the following day unable to share myself or even pretend to.

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