I have been coming to this same place for six weeks, and every time he has been watching me. He has eyes like a cat, curious, sleeping eyes, but deep beneath there is such a yearning inside them.
He wants me, but he hardly realises it, he does not know it.

I am there before he arrives. I lean against the wall in the exact same place that he always does.
When he turns the corner I can tell he is surprised to see me.

He twists his hat nervously in his hands. I fall into my role so easily these days I can hardly tell the difference between the girl I see in the mirror when I wake up in the morning and the girl I see reflected back at me from car windows. Her eyes are wide; her hair combed back from her face but wild enough to still show a rough edge, a darker side that nobody knows.
The only difference is this: when she is in front of the mirror she is needy, she is desperate. She is without a with.
Looking back at herself from car window that has pulled up beside her, she looks much older. She is a fancy city girl dolled up to take someone out.

He clears his throat. But I speak first.

-You watch me a lot.
-I…
-I know you do. I'm looking at the shops, and you lean against this wall and you watch me.
-Well…well, yes, I s-suppose I do.
-Do you like me?
-You're beautiful.
-You're not very original, are you?

- Can I buy you a coffee?
-I don't drink coffee.
-Tea?
-I don't drink tea either.
-Hot chocolate?
-It's August.
-Then let me buy you something to eat.

He is so innocent. His naïveté makes me feel almost guilty. I do not want to be the one responsible for bringing him into the world, properly into the world.
He is sat across from me watching me eat a pastry he has bought for me.
Almost every day, it's as if I'm sat at a counter, money constantly being passed over from one hand to the next. But nobody has bought me anything like this, anything as simplistic as food, for a long time.

I pull my skirt up slightly so the tops of my knees are showing.

-Come with me.
-Where?
-Don't you like me?
-Y-yes…yes, of course I do.
-Don't you want?
-Want what?
-Just want. Have you ever kissed a girl?
-N…no.
-Do you want to?
-Of course.
-Then come with me.

We are lying on a mattress on the third-floor of a derelict building, and he has fallen asleep like a child.
His hands are the best part of him. I can't explain it, why I value hands so much, but I do. They create and shape thoughts and matter. They can hurt, but they can just as equally love.

He has beautiful hair that I had hardly noticed before. I want to touch it, comb it, pull the locks back from his face, but it may well wake him up.
I do not like such moments to be spoiled. The moment they open their eyes and see me, they snap back to reality.
When he wakes up and buttons up his shirt, he will be a changed person.
I slip on my shoes, go out the door and down the stairs.
I do not know if he will miss me.