I made no headway yesterday and made no effort to. I didn't want to raise Julie's suspicions. It was difficult, sitting there waiting for what I knew would never come, an initiation of conversation from Julie. That still irks me, I admit, but it doesn't irk me with anyone else. Of course, that's because I care about her and want her to care about me. It's just my ego hurting. Not much room for ego here, though.
The day before, during conversation on the desk, Julie lowered her head to let her hair fall before her face, then with both hands swept it back over forehead as she raised her head. Normally, her hair lies flat, but the sweep had folded back, into a wave. If I didn't gasp audibly, it was a miracle; and how I didn't scream, "Stop that!" could only be attributed to some kind cosmic control, because I all but lost my mind and my heart together at that moment of concentrated exudation of everything about her that has captivated me, lo, these agonizing months. Life seemed at its cruelest and most unfair. Instantly, I had stumbled back into that web from which I'd deluded myself I'd been extricated. The sleeping dog was kicked. That's how I'd tried to think of this crush, as a dog I could let lie. When I awoke yesterday morning, after only a few hours asleep, I thought, with a sense of liberation, that the crush was something of which I had to accept the existence--reason didn't create it, so reason wasn't going to make it go away. Obviously, now, I must also accept its unpredictable awakenings.
I may be only a paragraph away from finishing the letter--the note now, as it's so short and will contain no salutation and no sign-off. I have the last line, but I need a wind-down paragraph to bring it all together. But I have time. I've taken Monday and Wednesday off to bookend the Vereran's Day off Tuesday. Thursday, now, is the day I plan to give Julie her books back.
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