I know what a burden I am. Truly. I am a just as much a burden to myself. Your heart belongs to someone else and I know it always will, but my being, my body, my soul overwhelms my mind and I know I am hopelessly out of control. Forgive me and know that I ask nothing of you; not love, not words, not passion. You understand that I will forever possess the power over your fantasies. My inclination to satisfy your desires will haunt us eternally. They are yours so much as you can resist them, and mine so much as you can't.
I was the object of nonreciprocating passion. Except, in her world I was reciprocating. And, in a deliberate and, apparently, very effective way. And yes, it was effective so far as it penetrated my thoughts as well. She would draw comments:
You should have stood there to see if he would come to you. I'll bet he would have.
And she was getting questions like:
"What color heels were they? They were stilettos, right? These things are important!"
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