She is slender and sylph like in form, and the rich gown drapes off her frail shoulders. It is of a delicate hue: apple green, which contrasts in harmony with her flaxen hair. Everything lays in perfect order for the social event; starlight streams from the high glass panes. When a young gentleman cordially asks her to dance she bends her knees and sweeps back her tarlatan gown revealing a gauzy layer of sheer fabric underneath. Her shoulders dip forward and she bows her head, then looks up with a droopy sort of face. Her eyelids sag heavily, and her bottom lip is slightly bigger than her top so it hangs low with weight in an almost sincere pout. The lady leaves one with the fancy that the entire encounter was a dream from the first. No one can tell what side she’s on, but they all want her to be on theirs.  I want her to be on mine. She takes his hand, and I could swear her eyes hugged my figure before skirting. They waltz gracefully away. She dances with him, but I can’t help noting her slender fingers, and the ways her skirt swings around her hips when they twirl… and twirl and twirl and twirl until their figures go pale and hazy and I have to wipe the frost from the windowpane. My lips are numb from the cold and I have lost feeling in my right leg, but I keep watching. I just want to see her to see me. I just need her to see me. I’m not sure she did back when I thought she did, and you see I have to be sure. Of course I have to be sure, I love her. You have to be sure the girl you love notices you, right? I’m not sure she ever has before, and of course I can’t go inside. So, I’ll wait. I press my face to the high glass pane as she smiles to the gentleman cordially. My nose turns red from the cold. I’ll wait forever.