Bird Of Prey

Atop his perch he studied the young woman. He had been fascinated by her for two weeks. He could not figure out why he thought she was beautiful. His friend did not see it making her more beautiful.

She had a wonderful smile, a smile that pacified his mind. A smile that made him forget the cosmetic nature of the world he had chosen to live in, a smile that illuminated the darkness in his soul. He thought about how he valued that smile. He thought about what he would give to see it often. He thought about how much he would enjoy telling her about her wonderful smile.

But what if she already knew of her beautiful smile? She would not care about this ugly owl stalking her from his perch. She would laugh at the owl and send him away. Beautiful people care about beauty. This ugly owl was not beautiful.

But what if she didn’t think her smile was beautiful? The owl did not like playing therapist. Women without confidence served no purpose. They were just lungs breathing, nothing more, nothing less. And, once the owl convinced her of her beauty, she would certainly see him for what he truly was, an ugly owl.

And, this neuroticism was his life. He wasn’t a damn owl. He was a scared boy who couldn’t find the courage to talk to an average looking girl. He was an idiot who thought things through. Some would say too thoroughly, but he knew that ‘too thoroughly’ made no sense; he had thought that out too. He knew his observations held future relevancy. He did not know exactly what they were going to be used for, but they were something, something relevant. Relevant was the correct word. He pondered the meaning of relevancy. All he ever did was ponder his thoughts.

He got off his perch. He passed the beauty. He wondered what the future held for him.

The beauty wondered the same thing.