Each night she imagined the collision of their first kiss. The breath of life being shared in one short contact of lips; tongues parting tongues and unlocking the doorway to each other. She would imagine, swoon, then imagine again. It was all she carried with her. It was her only solace.
In her waking hours, the girl wandered beneath a gray muted sky. Suburbia was her home and her prison, but the darkness of evening was hers. In these fleeting hours of starlit heavens she was with her true love.
During the dull ticking of sleep he would come. Her lover entered her subconscious mind, teased her with promises and enchanted her with a life worth remembering. Such a world was one where love was the golden rule and the national anthem was giddy open laughter. Such nightly visits gave the girl hope that, perhaps, on one gloomy day she would actually meet this man. It was what brought the spring in her step; it made her eyes twinkle with possibility.
As it was, all our wallflower possessed was a ghost of a man. A sacred promise of truth, beauty and binding passion flitted inside her veins. She desired someone fluid like water, someone whose dance matched the steps she herself marched.
As it is, all she has was herself. All she is missing is that first kiss and the lips of a lover worth kissing. For now, she waits and waits for a miracle while the harsh reality of loneliness mocks her optimism.