Her eyes are the kind to flick over you, deciding whether or not you are worthy of her time. Cascading dirty blonde hair falls onto her back, though that is the least interesting thing about her. 

As she brushes her hair back behind her ears, the faintest trace of a tattoo is shown on her wrist. She glances my way, and her lips tug up into the barest of smiles, before she turns back to her work. 

Her persona is quite mysterious, as though no one will ever truly understand all of her layers. She wears small silver earrings, a fake helix clip on her left ear. I think it makes her feel strong. I finger my bracelet, my own jewelry that gives me power. 

Her brown eyes focus on the computer screen, but her hands fidget with play-doh as she types. 

When you first look at her, she truly seems normal, but I’ve found that under the most ordinary masks, live the most extraordinary souls. Yes, she’s eye-catching, not for beauty (though that isn’t something she lacks) but rather for something that pulls me in. 

I lean over to look at her screen, and I catch a glimpse of words and lines before she tilts it down towards her. Ah, a poet. It all makes sense now.

Her whole essence does scream poet to me, I don’t know why I didn't notice it in the first place. Writing is only words, sure, but those who craft word after word, melding it into emotion, have something many of us will never obtain. I think the poets understand the entirety of the universe, like there’s something whispering in each of their minds, telling them secrets I’ll never hear. 

Keys clacking, or pens scratching, will never fail to soothe me, for I know that there is a new tale being formed into existence, and she is one who wields that strength.

It’s funny, how she curls her shoulders in, her gaze down, when she holds the most beautiful story in the world within her heart. 

The chair squeaks in the quiet room, and I turn my gaze back to her, only to catch the last swing of her tote bag exiting the door. I’ll never know her, and I never did. But I know one thing.

She was quite a presence. There's no other way to describe it. She filled a room, and I find myself missing her, but alas my day must go on.

I pack my notes into my backpack, and exit through the same set of doors, thinking about the wondrous human I've just encountered.

Farewell, my almost lover.