He waited for her, in the shadows. The darkness was a comfortable place; a morose kind of sickness he could breathe and be comfortable in. He was that way; putrid, disgusting. Unworthy. Especially of her.
But he crept on, clinging to those lofty shadows like a little black spider does a wall, tentatively following her footsteps in the best way that he could.
The warm breeze baked his face, wafting over him. He could smell her perfume. She was so clean, so utterly unmarked and healthy. He wanted to grab her, to know her, to know what this 'clean' felt like. But that was impossible. So he stayed right where he was and let his hope stifle in the suffocating silence of the grimy, dirty darkness.
She was in love, and to her, it was that simple. The object of her fondest (and perhaps darkest) desires was only a boy she saw in passing in the spring courtyard where she took her lunch every day. She first noticed him staring from his bench in the shade when she clumsily spilled her stale morning coffee down the front of her white blouse.
It had been a rather awkward experience, him crunching a bright red apple, staring unabashedly whilst she scrambled around like a complete and utter dolt. But it was then that she had noticed him and the sad little smile that played on his lips when she walked away.
So she came back. Day after day, watching him secretly from the sunny warmth of the fountain steps. Some days he occupied himself, leisurely and at ease, with some sort of book. Other days he slumped loftily over a meatball sandwich which he would lovingly devour much like a snake devours a mouse. But for as long as she waited and prayed for him to stand up and take a step toward her, it was never long enough. He only sat and let the sad little smile burn into her shoulder blades as she slowly walked away.