“You know, I’ve been watching you. You’re devastatingly beautiful. I don’t know why I couldn’t tell you until now. I’m sorry, I hope you don’t mind, me watching you, I mean. Am I making you uncomfortable? Um, I’m sorry. Should I start again?”

“I’ve watched you for so long. I thought it was the way the sun just lights up your face, making you glow. Or is it your slender body, the curves and contours of your face? But... that doesn’t seem to be it. It’s just inexplicable. When I hear the sound of your unrestrained, carefree laughter, it makes me smile too. It makes me happy. You always smile so knowingly, so secretive, with a hint of cheekiness, as though you’ve just shared something confidential with me and you just know no one else will ever find out. I felt loved, sometimes, did you know that? Did you intend it?”

“I don’t think you meant it. Oh well… it doesn’t make a difference now, does it? No matter how hard I tried to convince myself, I couldn’t help it. Did you think I didn’t try? It hurts the most when I see the bees all over you, tainting you with their feet, defiling you! Especially the butterflies, darting around ever so flirtatiously. They are so carefree with their colourful wings, as though they haven’t got a care in the world. Why do you smile at them with the same way you smile at me? But I know, I can never compete with them. It sucks to watch your dalliances with them, and know that I couldn’t bear to be so close to you but not touching you… so achingly close…”

“Well, what do I have to do? I wish I could turn into an orchid, of the Vanda-Miss-Joaquim variety, would you like me then? How about a rose? Would I be romantic enough for you? I’m not a botanist, but I might as well be, given the amount of time I’ve spent observing you. I don’t get paid, and I don’t know why I continue to do this. A bloody year you know? I mean, I can’t take this anymore. You play with my feelings, you show me teasing smiles, you feed tiny little savoury crumbs of concessions to my starving heart. Tell me, what do I have to do?”

“But well, I’m okay now. I’m moving on. I bet you never knew all these, did you? I didn’t mean to reveal so much. Great. What a brilliant linguist I am. You know what? I’m sorry. I’m sorry I ever laid eyes on you. I’m sorry I wasted so much time on you. I’m sorry I ever liked you. You and your seductive glances, your flashiness, you. I fucking hate you!”

I sat on the ground and watched, as a stranger stomps on a flower and walks away.