62. Irregular Orbit

There's something about Richard that pulls people in. A gravitational pull stronger than the earth's. He laughs, and everything seems to quiver.

He'll never be mine, and I know it. He belongs to that redhead with the cackling laugh and the short words.

But perhaps I can content myself with circling him when we meet at a bookstore, captivated by his smile, a mere satellite to his glowing, shining; I writhe in internal agony every time he deigns to smile in my direction.

Only too often. Sometimes I almost seem to forget, he'll never be mine.