A Thrill of My Own

Oh, the vicarious thrill of watching it unfold. Something I could never do, I never had the courage. Yet, there she stood, alone, a raven haired beauty Silken strands of delicacy, caressing her shoulders Something to exult, to worship, at least from afar. And then he came in, as dashing as one would expect. The chasm between dapper and dashing and modest and mousy, too much to bridge. No night club was dark enough to compensate and so I just watched. I watched him approach her, the impetus to do so as natural for him as combing his wavy blond curls. His dress and his manner clamored of opulence. And yet, she seemed to resist. Had she tasted this brand before. Had she already been just another bauble or conquest, meant only to adorn. Embarrassed that she caught my gaze, I turned, just as she smiled Could it be that that such grace and beauty could have an eye for me. It was not mockery I saw in her grin. Perhaps courage will find me yet and lessons learned will ensure a thrill of my own.