Those three words ...

She was just sitting there, looking out the window thinking about him. The snow kept falling, her thoughts were as free as the snow, she was randomly reminincing the times they were together and the things they did together.

He did not know her feelings. She always wanted to tell him, but she never did. This ofcourse was the dark side of unrequited love.

She looked out the window a long time just lost in her thoughts. She wondered if life would change if she took the step. To confess Love for someone who didn't feel the same way was one thing, but what if the other person truly felt the same? Or atleast reciprocated their feelings? Wouldn't that a truly weird but wonderful proposition?

She sat there a long time just looking out the window. Tears came to her eyes thinking about the good and the bad times of their supposed relationship. The relationship she had with this man in her head. The truth was he did not know she existed. But in her head, he knew her really, really well.

She was transfixed in front of the window of her room that day. As she sat there, the window grew larger and larger. The memories played back like an old Disney VHS video tape. She was replaying the microscopic details that she always enlarged, being very truly the empath she always thought she was.

She wondered for a second if real life was easier. She wanted to face reality but every time she tried to do so she was flooded with a wave of emotions pushing her in the opposite direction. Was it shyness? Possibly. She wanted to reach out and talk to him. She wanted to confess how she felt. She wondered though how this stalwart young man would react, the perfect human being that he was, or rather seemed to be.

She just wanted him. A wave of emotions overtook her as she sat by the window. She felt her withered and chapped lips and her dry palms. She had always wanted love. Where was the love? She truly ever loved only one man, and she really felt alone in this world. She suddenly felt very dizzy thinking about the love of her life, another young stalwart she once knew, who was as cute as a button but who had no words to express how he truly felt.

She thought about the memories. The times she longed for him so much but he just wasn't there. She had always wanted those things the supposedly lucky girls got. She always wanted to have a nice big teddy bear to hold, and to keep her warm. A real life one -a life like one, a mate. But that was obviously not her destiny.

She sat there for a while, until she decided to get herself a cup of marshmallow hot chocolate. It was already a couple of hours that she was just sitting there thinking these delicious thoughts. She decided to write a book. A book about her desires. A book about the things she always wanted to say but couldn't. Who knew? Maybe one day he would read the book, and want her so desperately that it would culminate into a relationship? She knew so well that even if she became a famous author, she would still want the same man.

She sat there with the hot chocolate. The hot cocoa tasted so good on her tongue. She closed her eyes. A draft of wind blew and she felt goosebumps. There was indeed something wildly erotic about the feeling. Could it mean something? She never knew she could feel this. Perhaps she really had it in her to write the story of her life. The story of her empath frustration about a lost and unrequited love that could have been but never was.

After enjoying the hot chocolate down to the last sip. She sat down with a pen and a paper. She scribbled what she thought was a mind map, some sort of diagnostic tool for authors planning a plot for a book. She made very clear designs of what seemed like not only a plot, but a climax, a fitting denouement for her story.

She closed the window and lie down on the couch in front of her window. She closed her eyes and dreamed about a handsome faceless man who loved her for who she truly was. Perhaps this was perhaps this was God. God could be human, do you think? And love her like a man did? Perhaps she was dreaming a little too hard.

She woke up in the middle of the dream. It was too much to take. The idea of God loving her more than anyone else could. The idea of writing a book (okay that wasn't so bad) the idea of two lovers that knew not her feelings.

It was 6 am on sunday, and she loved the idea of sitting near the larger than life window where she loved to sit and think about her past. The window seemed like a wonderful place to have a little reverie or two with a cup of hot chocolate on a cold wintry day.

She decided to call up her best friend. It was only 6:00 a.m. but the dear friend was someone who loved going to church and spoke the Godly things that could surely heal her heart and soul. She always knew she had chapped lips and dry hands but never ever equated them with a lack of love or a lack of Romance. She decided to write a book, now she had made up her mind, that she would record these wistful feelings, just so someone who felt the same way, could also reminsice over them with a cup of cocoa and a warm blanket.

Believe it or not she did this every day. The love of her life was working aboard a merchant Navy ship which had headed to Italy. When it came back, so did the guy she missed so much. Since she had written a book he looked at her in a different way. He loved her with a new respect and he reciprocated when she said those words. " I love you, I have always loved you." She finally said.

"I love you, and I want you to write more...since you are so talented!" He chirped back. Yes, it was the beginning of a different life for her.