Shame. Contempt. Rage.

I don't know your name.

I know where we met.

At a bookstore. One of my favorites.

I know how you looked.

Perhaps as tall as me. Shorter hair than mine. Infinitely more beautiful than me. Close to perfection.

I don't know your name.

I remember what you wore.

A light blue shirt, slightly large for you. Simple. Practical. Lovely.

I remember the things you said.

My hair. Sheep. My studies. You wished me luck. How I wish to hear it again.

I don't know your name.

I know your age. Two years my senior.

I know where you study. Over the seas, in Japan. Studying sheep for your master's degree.

I remember how your eyes looked when you saw me.

But to know how you saw me,

A boon not meant for me, I think.

And I don't know your name.

I do not know your name

I know how I could find out.

I know how I could try to reach you.

I know who to ask.

But I cannot.

Not without mortal embarrassment.

So I beg you forgive me.

For being cowardly.

For being embarrassed of my own feelings.

For settling for a shadow instead of fighting for the light.

What a wretch! What a fool!