How much of human life is lost in waiting? I know that I have spent much of the past months in a perpetual state of wait. I lack conviction. I lack gumption. I am waiting for something extraordinary to happen to me, instead of boldly going forth to claim it as my right. Time to set aside the dreamer; I say this with the greatest of fortitude and yet I feel my resolve already weakening. The reason follows.

It has come time to admit that I am in love. Yes, me, William Bernard, in love! I can scarcely believe it myself. Denying it has been in total vanity and I’ve come no closer to releasing my tortured soul. Oh how many sleepless nights and dream-filled days! How many thoughts and fears have laid waste to my mind over the past month! You see, admiration and affection are only desirable if they are returned in kind. Alas, I am not so lucky. Only a few vague reminisces remain, months old, that are all too quickly passed.

The sound of her name sends a permanent shiver down my spine. Thus far I have been able to push her to the periphery of my mind during waking hours, only to have her return ever more powerfully when I sleep. For no matter how far I tread in a day’s time I always find myself rising the next morning with her fresh in my head. Damn this intolerable waiting. Damn my foolish heart. I remember the peculiar sensation of falling for her. All day at the café the curious sensation in my chest, a warm ooze that seemed to blanket me and I could do naught but smile. Folly, all of it.

The power to ask if she feels the same is at my fingertips, but I dare not. The truth of her feelings are hidden from me, allowing me to live on, wondering and hoping and dreaming. I dare not ask her because that would mean the end. It must come, I suppose. I can’t very well live out the rest of my life with the romanticism of an unaccomplished 24 year-old. Time to move on. But not yet, not yet.