Invisible Me

Hello, I am your new neighbor, I met you last week.  I don't expect you to remember me
because you would not hold my gaze and dismissed me abruptly when I introduced
myself to you.  Were you having a bad day?  Was it me?  Do you even care to know
who I am?

I am an ordinary woman, with dirty-blond hair I cannot tame, a crooked smile and, below
my left ear spreading down my neck, a birthmark the shape of the continent of Africa.
There is, of course, so much more about me that you will mostly likely never know.
I surely noticed you and since our brief meeting you fill every waking thought I have.
Your handsome face infiltrates my dreams.  I cannot escape the image of you, nor do
I want to.

I see you now walking up the up the stairs to the front porch that we share, the only thing
we have in common.  I covertly watch you behind my shuttered window.  I do not
exhale in fear that the breath that crosses my lips might give me away.  I hear your door
close behind you.  Walking over to the wall that separates your loveliness from me, I
press my ear to the cold plaster, and listen for you.