You

I shouldn’t have been surprised that the second time you came to the store I missed you completely. Even when we were together I was afraid you would fly away, like a nervous butterfly. You flit from place to place, never settling long enough for anyone to see you. You were always in the periphery of my vision, just out of reach, so close but never close enough to grab on to. At night I would hold you so tight because I was afraid you would dissipate like smoke and float from the room. I was always surprised when you were there in the morning.

Lesley said someone had commented on the heart decorations and, as lovely as they were, didn’t she think that some people might find them a bit of a deterrent. It could have been anyone but I know it was you. You once told me your middle name was unsolicited advice.
Funny that you with your all your glittery clothing, neon knick knacks and raucous laughter would prefer anything to be understated. But then your love of fairy tales and happy ever after has always been a secret you kept buried inside. I never asked you about it but snooping in your room confirmed that you were indeed shamefully addicted to stories about doctors and heiresses. Pirates and princesses uncontrollably attracted to one another. You, who swore that love was fleeting at best, hoarded those stories, pouring over them at night. I know you read them because you were looking for a character like you. If you could just find one heroine that remotely reminded you of yourself you could believe that you were capable of love.

Did I not show you it was real?

It sounds like you are still doubtful.