Can I love you from afar?

She is a mysterious one. Or so I have heard. They say she hides secrets behind those tortoiseshell rimmed glasses and whispers tales of her past to those who gain her trust. Maybe one day she will trust me.

I find her unlike other librarians, usually so strict and hmm how do you put it - simply librarian-like. But this woman is different.

She is wearing pants. Soft beige corduroy slacks that flare slightly at the bottom. A loose fitted t-shirt with some brand I don't recognise printed on it. Her feet are clad with leather birkenstocks and a braided anklet tied firmly around her right ankle.

Some may say you cannot judge a person by their fashion. But I disagree. I feel people may look at me and judge me by my outfits. I dress rather outrageously, but I like it that way.

The woman pushes those glasses onto her head, the thin plastic arms pulling her silky blonde hair out of her face. I can see her eyes now. A muted green, soft like the first blooms of spring, yet the setting sun occasionally catches them in a whirl of green fire.

Ah, she has bewitched me. I find myself nestled in this corner more often than I should. A wide window to my left and a perfect view of the Librarian through shelves of historical wars and detailed volumes of how Christopher Columbus discovered America, (which for your information he did not).

I long to know her name. For her to know mine. To take her to Chili's Café and buy her the hot beverage which she fancies. To strut down the main street with her hand in mine. To introduce her to my parents, and cringe as Mom shows her photographs of myself as a baby, though I would secretly love it. But hush, no one needs to know that.

I dream of this woman. Her countenance so fair yet unique. There is just something about her that lures me in. Like a siren beguiling the starved ears of lost sailors at sea.

I watch her. She is crouching beside a young girl whose pigtails stick off her head in the most adorable fashion. The Librarian's voice is hushed, yet I faintly catch the lyrical whispers of her gentle tone. She sends shivers coursing down my spine, though the sensation is far from unpleasant.

She speaks with the girl, her mouth slipping into a easy smile as she helps the child choose a colourful book to read. They stroll to a nearby couch, their stride bouyant as they walk hand in hand. She eases the girl onto her lap, tucking her hair behind an ear then began to read.

Soft laughter breaks the hushed quiet of the library. I turn my head to see two students giggling hysterically over something unknown, as they pour over thick textbooks showing varied equations and the art of calculus. My gaze darts back to the woman, her eyes are on the students though her expression is soft. They look at her, their cheeks tinged pink as they grin sheepishly. She smiles back, not a hint of annoyance gracing her ethereal looks. I admire her for that.

The day slips past - too quickly if you ask me - and I find myself yet again lingering in the doorway, racking my empty brain for something witty to say. Nothing comes to mind, what a surprise. With a deep sigh, I turn and leave the library as the overhead lights flicker and dim.

The carpark is bare, save for mine and the Librarian's. I sit, submerged in the whimsical twangs of ABBA and the Beatles. Yes, I am fond of those classics. I wonder what music the Librarian likes, maybe one day I'll know. I watch enchanted, as she slips from the glass doors, locks them tight and starts her silver convertible with a rumble. She doesn't even glance my way. Seconds tick past faster than I can count and suddenly it's just me. Alone. Doused in the misery my thoughts put me through. With a sigh, I slip the car into drive and slowly make my way home.

*

The library smells clean. Intoxicatingly clean. I feel engulfed in the sanitary scents of disinfectant and Windex. And a hint of coffee? I tug at the collar of my mauve shirt, stepping further beyond the glass doors. The Librarian is at her desk, she looks serene. I hesitate to tread further, dare I disturb her and cause that blissful expression to slip from her features.

She draws a disposable coffee cup to her lips, her eyes briefly fluttering shut as she savours the rich flavour. Her gaze darts my way. Those gems of emerald colliding with my panicked brown ones. She raises an slender hand and waves at me with a smile. I stand frozen, though somehow through the fog of happiness clouding my thoughts, I manage to wave back.

As I trundle to my usual table, I commit every tiny detail of that fleeting moment to memory. The way her hair glows in the soft rays of sunlight that pool through high windows and splay out onto the carpet below. The mingling aroma of cleaning products, thousands of books and her takeaway coffee. Her smile, (The one directed at me!) the way her eyes crinkle slightly and that one dimple that can melt my heart in an instant.

Argh, I'm a fool. I smile at those Christopher Colombus shelves, I may be a fool, but she smiled at me. What more does this simple heart need?

Time ticks past in a blur of books I didn't want to read and eavesdropping on two middleschoolers gossiping about how Carter stapled his finger for the third time, and how Grace is dating Boyd again even after he wore another girls scrunchie on his wrist. I must say, the audacity of Boyd.

As the sun announces noon, I watch as the Librarian swishes through wide aisles and straightens various books. Her sky blue dress is dotted with tiny white flowers, the thin fabric floating around her knees as she greets avid readers and that one old gentleman who is never without a Biggles novel. Reminds me of the old days, he once grunted in my general direction, whilst I browsed the shelves for yet another romance novel to fill my head with unrealistic dreams. 

I wonder if she wonders about me, if she's curious at all. Or perhaps she forgets I exist until the next time our eyes meet over piles of books. Or maybe she loves me, just as I love her. Maybe she dreams of showing me her favourite novel, watching me with a soft smile as I devour the pages just to know her that little bit more. Maybe she gazes at me, wishing, hoping that I would be the one, that I would stop loving her from afar and draw her close. Or maybe that's just me. Yeah probably just me and my over-active imagination.

I feel tired, perhaps I will take some books home today, catch up on that work I've been procrastinating and call it a day. Yeah, I'll do that.

I pull books from a shelf, their covers hinting at the mystical worlds trapped between endless pages. I tuck them under an arm, smile at the old man and head to the front desk. 

I hear soft footsteps behind me, yet I am hesitant to turn. I know it is her. 

Just borrowing these few? Those eyes trap me in their stare, I feel paralysed but I stand tall. Don't exactly want to make myself more of a fool than I already am. 

Yes please. I say, placing my chosen books before her. She smiles at me, clacking at the keyboard, then scans the books. 

I see you here quite a bit. She states, her eyes on the chunky computer screen and not on my slightly frantic face. Does she know? Has she guessed that the reason I am here so often is not just because of my love for books, but because of her? 

What can I say, I laugh nervously, Books are my weakness.

Okay I lied, she is my weakness, not the books. 

She grins at me, the expression almost too much for my fragile heart to bear. That's what I like to hear. I'm Daisy by the way. 

Daisy. The name so fitting I kind of want to scream. But I can't, because she'd probably get scared and never talk to me again. I wipe my hands on my green and white checkered pants, and extend a hand. 

Nice to meet you Daisy. She grasps my hand in her own. Our skin collides in a burst of tingles. I smile. Through the haze of joy clouding my vision, I think I see my future.