You know that you are infatuated with someone when her[1] absence is more conspicuous than the presence of other people. And in every social gathering, your eyes lift and wander, expecting to see that face. The odds of statistical improbability stare at you, but you refuse to acknowledge them... and you hope that maybe, just maybe she'd be present there, and through a miraculous quirk of fate, you'll be able to meet her. It never happens, though. Maybe that's what infatuation is all about: a seductive denial of reality.

[1] Since i am talking from my point of view, allow me the use of feminine gender.


SP said…
smiles.. how true ...!