and as i ran my hand along walnut banisters, the aroma of aging ink still fresh in my nose, i looked up and met your eyes. oh my those russet eyes. i clutched my leather satchel closer, but it was too late. i made a foolish mistake. i fell for you. i fell. i was not just foolish, i was cowardly too. i'd just watch, as your dark curls bobbed up and down in the crowd. i wrote bad poetry in chocolate ink on my wrists, and when you noticed, you held the words gently, as if they were a small bird. and although i'm no artist, i painted your face on the roman statues in the courtyard. i carved your name in the old willow down by the pond. had i more courage, i would've leaned in and kissed your chapped lips. i settled for the small thrill of the electric jolt sent up my spine every time you laughed. i couldn't even escape you in my sleep. my dreams taunted me with images of us running down empty hallways and writing each other letters on yellow parchment by dim candlelight. i can't help but hate my past self. she's left me with nothing but regret and haunting nostalgia.