Michelle

I watched her.
Every day, I watched her from afar.
The way her soft brown hair fell over her shoulder.
Her eyes that would swiftly dart side to side.
Every day, precisely at noon, she would show up at the market.
Usually her order consisted of fruits and some pasta.
Some days she bought sweets.
Other days, some vegetables.
She never knew I was watching her from my window.
But I was there.
Everyday at my window, watching her pale skinned form go move from table to table.
And then, one day, I introduced myself.
Her name was Michelle, and she was from France.
She never knew she was going to end up being my wife,
But alas, here we are today.