Enamored alone

She is divine, simply divine. Her breasts rounded and eternally covetable, her eyes like an innocent woman, her gaze that could not hide the beauty of her interior. Many times I felt guilty for having wanted it so much in secret, but it was not my fault. The fault must be hers, I'm not guilty of there being a woman as beautiful as her, of that in an Indian body, slenderly molded, with black hair, as black as his eyes, with a look as tender as hers, and more tender even when she smiles, so much beauty was hidden. Maybe she is not to blame for being beautiful, it was definitely God's fault, he was the one who stopped to mold her so perfect, so beautiful. But it was she who chose to be tender.

I never told him that since I saw him for the first time he was enchanted with his body. For my luck (or punishment from God), she sat next to me in English classes, and at the time of doing the practices of the day, she was my usual companion. We did not talk much because we were few students and the teacher always demanded everyone's attention. In the few moments that we exchanged words of a personal nature, I was able to know the few things that I will never be able to forget about her. That I had a three-year-old baby, who studied law, who believed in God and practiced a religion, who liked to run, play volleyball, I also knew on one occasion, that he had a problem that we could not talk about (he did not want to tell me what a problem it was).

I planned in silence to approach her. I could not find a way to have a woman who at 30 years was as perfect as very few at least age. I think I was intimidated by her beauty. I remembered her a thousand times tapping down the hallway of the classroom as she left the section. She must have studied modeling. From my mind I could not remove that neckline that once let see the most divine and seductive breasts that my mind could imagine. Not infrequently I was asked if it was a fetish that I had, but I do not think, after all, only she produced that.

I was convinced that I was obsessing. He was older than me. He was 6 years older than me. But that did not matter to me, nor do I care now. I was willing to learn from her, I was willing to give myself to her, I was willing to put my world together with that of an angel.

I cursed the modesty that makes religion, but at the same time I realized that maybe that was what kept her alone. And not because he deserved to be alone, rather because he wanted her for me. But I did not know how to cross that barrier that had prevented so many people from reaching it.

I had to find a way to get to his heart in a way that allows me to stay in him. I wanted to invite her to the movies, but I thought of a thousand reasons why I should not do it. I imagined cooking for her, taking her home, studying together, living together, going out together. But I can not find a way to get there.

At the end of all my attempts, I decided with great pain to abandon myself to dream about her and to feed my dreams with the moments we shared together in class. But fate is cruel, it put her so close to me when my determination was still weak. If I could have the opportunity to tell her for once how much I loved her in silence, even though my feelings do not correspond, I would express her with everything she would do for her. And who knows, maybe she even corresponds to me. But they are just illusions, I know that he left not to return. What I never understood was because he wrote me that letter. After all, we never share anything, and I never saw in her the interest I had towards her. I think I should have read the letter, maybe today it was different.