bored enough to write something.

Currently Listening Man at Work By Colin Hay see related

"I can't stop thinking about you," he said. "I just want you to know that you're my entire world." He looked deep into her piercing brown eyes, waiting for her to tell him that she felt the same way. Waiting to hear her say that she loved him, and that she always had. But she said nothing.

She said nothing, not because she was ignoring him, not because she believed herself out of his league, but simply because Richard was talking to a photograph. A photograph that, although Richard often talked to it, was completely unable to hold an intelligent conversation. The poloroid snapshot had been tucked up under the frame of Richard's mirror ever since the subject which it captured had sent it to him in a letter.

The letter, which Richard kept in his wallet as a type of good luck charm, was sent from a family vacation which the girl had been on: a week-long excursion which Richard had considered the most boring and lonely time of his life. This tiny bit of correspondence, Richard felt, proved that--although she was way out of his league--the girl really did care for him.

The thought of this intrigued Richard, who believed that if he was lucky enough to have this girl think of him, even for just a moment, he must have used up all of the luck that God had given him. This is why Richard was completely terrified to talk to her. Anything Richard said seemed to come out as mindless blabber. Which is why he was satisfied talking to a picture.

Although it would never talk back, it didn't care if he sounded like a fool. And it represented a girl who, although she may not ever have known how he felt, had once cared for him enough to send a letter.

A letter that held a photograph as a sort of non-judgmental ambassador. A messenger from his one true love. The messenger tucked under the edge of Richard's mirror. A constant reminder that there was someone out there who loved him, even if only a little.

And maybe that was enough.