Staring at him through the glass, I tried to imagine what it would be like if I set foot in the shop. He was perfect. And I was… Well, I was me.
He was my perfect dream come true, and he ran his own business. Occasionally, he saw me and tried to wave me in, but I was afraid. Afraid he wouldn’t like me. Afraid he wouldn’t be like me. There I was, my disheveled self, an utter mess, thinking I might be worth his time. I wasn’t even worth my own time. I carry so much baggage my shoulders are hunched. He has his shit together, so there was no way he’d be interested in this hot mess. I stared wistfully at him from afar and imagined our life together. I sighed, lifted my shoulders, and walked away. One day I would go through the door and talk to him. When I got my life together, I would prove that I was worth his time. Maybe one day.
He’s at the window again, looking in. He’s so beautiful, but his sad eyes caught my attention. I don’t know why he won’t come into my shop. I’ve smiled and waved before, but he blushes and runs away. He was always checking in, and I’ve seen some of his hidden smiles. His mysterious, searching eyes. They were breathtaking. I often imagined the perfect meeting. As I hum and sweep the floors, it’s his eyes I see, his secret smile. One day I will have the courage to ask him in. Will he think I’m good enough? I grip my broom tighter. He might not even like me. Why was I deluding myself into thinking that fate would just give me the perfect man? He probably wasn’t even interested. I sighed, and my shoulders fell as the weight of it took over me. Fate was cruel, showing me a glimpse of the perfect man, just out of my reach. I still smiled and waved every day, hoping he would come in.
Maybe one day.