She's different now, and I'm not referring to the disappearance of her bleached blonde hair back to her natural brown. I loved her as a blonde, but the dark suits her better. I wouldn't care if she had rainbow-colored hair. I'm not sitting outside the hospital where she works, watching her walk to her car like some stalker, because she’s gorgeous. I’m here because of her heart and kindness. That’s what I’m fighting to get back. The package it comes in is just an added bonus.
Her ponytail swings back and forth as she laughs with what I hope is a co-worker, unless she's turned lesbian in the last two years. She waves good-bye to the girl and throws her purse into the passenger seat of her Jetta. The car has a little more rust than it did back in the day, but it's held up well. Still, it’s old and she deserves something newer.
She pulls out of her parking space, and my heart constricts as I watch her drive away from me again. I should duck down so she doesn’t see me, but my eyes won't veer from her. The beat-up Jetta passes and my stomach clenches. My hand itches to yank the car handle open. My feet beg to disobey and run to her. I don't have to, because she slams on the breaks and her eyes are locked on mine. Hope pours from mine while hers fume with anger.