Had you spoken to me during one of those unassuming nights, I might now be so much more miserable. Because then I’d be imagining all sorts of things, colored in optimism, and I’d be waiting even more avidly for something to happen; but nothing will. You see, I don’t know anything about you other than that you are moving to a new home. And if we had a conversation, it would probably be one too frivolous to establish any lasting ties. Those words will whirl forever in that single night, upsetting me every time I think back to them. What is it about you that so enchants me? I never noticed you from the start. It was only a week ago that I really paid attention to you; to that bright smile you hold on your face, and the gentle ease with which you carry yourself. I keep thinking about it, and I still can’t figure out why it is that I am so captivated. Luckily, I’m not miserable now, because no talking ever occurred. I still don’t you, and to you, I might as well be a stranger. As it is, I have about a week left to get to know you better. I greatly doubt anything will happen. I am too cowardly a person; or maybe I’m just too lazy, too indifferent to the spells of people. It might just be better that I not know you at all, for hope is such a dangerous thing – hope never pleases, yet it is so capable of displeasing.