0 sketches

...continuation of drawings...

He stood staring into the window.  His eyes sought the object of his obsession.  Obsession was the only word he could use to describe the emotions that tormented him.  He had purposely avoided the cafe for the past two weeks.  Somehow he had figured that if he didn't see her, she would slowly but surely disappear from him mind. It had not worked.  Her image was engraved upon his brain.  Every time he picked up a pencil or pen he found himself sketching her from memory.  Charcoals seemed to me his favorite medium as of late.  For the life of him, he could not understand how someone could weasel their way so easily into his heart.  He looked at her, sitting surrounded as always by stacks of papers.  He wanted to deny that his heart was involved, but the tightening in his chest told him his heart was completely taken by her.  The first time he saw her, she had stolen his breath.  Even the way she seemed so oblivious to the world around her brought a smile to his lips.  He wanted so badly to shake her out of her trance and open her eyes to the world around her.  Instead, he sat there silently and sketched.  Somehow he just couldn't seem to capture her just right.  Several times he had tried to catch her attention, but he had failed miserably save that one day.  He had asked to borrow a chair.  And finally, she pulled her gaze away from her work and looked at him.  If he hadn't noticed the tug at his heart strings before, that moment he found himself completely rapt.  But all she did was nod.  She didn't say a word.  He probably would have stopped coming at that point, however, he felt drawn.  He spent another two weeks just sitting there hoping that maybe what he had seen her eyes in that moment was a twinkle of what he felt.  After watching her for those weeks continue to work as though that connection had not occurred was more than he could handle.  The only way he thought he might be able to let go of her was to walk away and clear his mind of her image.  But she had continued to haunt him.  Each day for the past two weeks her image plagued him.  Where before he might only see her image floating before him once or twice, he was now constantly picturing her.  He gazed at her through the window, watched her work, and wondered if she had even noticed he was gone.  The ache in his heart at the thought that he might never know hurt more than he cared to admit.  He looked down at his feet and contemplated what he should do.  Move on, was what is brain was telling him.  One more look, was what his heart was asking for.  He looked up once more.  He didn't need to memorize the moment or the way she looked because he lived and breathed it every second of everyday.  With a sigh he began to turn his gaze away from the window.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw her look up.  He turned back to find her looking directly at him.  The left corner of her mouth lifted into a half smile.  Her eyes seemed to soften.  She leaned down, never once breaking eye contact and withdrew a piece of paper from her bag.  He watched her eyebrows raise in a questioning manner as she turned the paper toward him.  There staring back at him was the last sketch he had made of her before his hiatus from the cafe.  It had been a decent sketch, but compared to her it had been pitiful.  So, like most of his cafe sketches of her it had ended up in the trash.  How she had come to possess it was beyond him.  But he had every intention of finding out.