A Romance

He saw a girl wearing a summer dress and winter boots hurrying down 52nd Street, smiling secretively at the song her i-pod sang. Her earrings danced and sparkled against the dark cloud of her hair. To him she looked like a spring flower in a winter garden. She saw him too: a man, hands in pockets, standing like a sculpture beside his truck, with a look about him at once mysterious and wonderful. As they grew closer, their eyes met and shared a moment as electric and quick as a lightning strike. The December wind gusted, ruffling his hair and her skirts, and as she disappeared into the crowd something sparkled behind her like the tail of a comet. He realized her earring had fallen on the ground. But though he snatched it up and followed after her, it was too late. The winter sun slanted down 5th Avenue, blinding him, and the crowd was thicker than brambles. Clutching the earring to his heart, he vowed he would find her. Destiny could not be so cruel. Meanwhile, it was time to grab a slice of pepperoni and cheese pizza...

Ugh! Writing a romance novel would be harder than it seems, I think. Anyway, this is the scene I've been imagining in my head all day as I've tried to console myself over losing an earring today. It wasn't anything expensive--but just one of those charming things that attract me, and which I tend to wear day after day because it always feels right. It's true that I did share a glance with a very attractive man on the street-corner as I rushed to grab my lunch, but I have no idea where I lost the earring. I retraced my steps (and there weren't that many of them today, really) to no avail. Likely the thing was run over by a car, or fell down a subway grate, never to be seen again. However, I like to imagine that my handsome stranger is keeping it tucked away in his jacket's inner pocket as a memento of me, and that his dreams will be haunted by my memory as he curses himself for not saying hello.