“You love to watch her dance.”
"Yes, watching her dance is like watching the first snowflake fall in winter.”
“Does she even know?”
He shrugged. No. She didn’t know that he came every day to watch her practice. She didn’t know that everyday rain or shine, he made his way from his apartment in the village, took the train, just to come and watch her dance. She didn’t know that for him, watching her was much like breathing.
“Why don’t you reveal yourself to her.”
“Why? To torture myself?”
“But she is different, isn’t she?”
He paused before answering. Paused because he knew deep within his heart his friend’s words were true. She was different, in all the ways it truly mattered. His world would crush her, break her, and he wouldn’t have that, couldn’t have that on his conscious. It mattered not. She could never step into the hell that was his world. It was an impossibility that could not be imagined.
He was of the rose.
She was of the mortal realm.
But how he loved to watch her dance.
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