Her blonde hair ever so blonde, was like a glistening golden rose standing out amongst a field. Her name was charlotte, but I had never talked to her,...she smelled like candy, but I had never smelled her, with hair so soft, yet always out of my grasp. I knew everything about this girl, my love, my life. And still she didn't even recognize me, didn't see my hard work. The amount of time I spent watching, learning, memorizing, her every move didn't mean a damn thing to her. I loved her and she has. And most evenings I would sit in the same shitty chair looking up her skirt as she snored on the couch, having fallen asleep in front of re-runs of American TV shows such as Star Trek or Sonny and Cher or BBC offerings such as Thunderbirds or The Avengers. I had no time for such inane distractions as they flickered on our small black and white screen; I stared in concentration at my mother's nylon encased legs, examining how her hose wrinkled behind her knees; staring at her painted toenails. More

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