Epitaph

Suddenly she was there, walking down the empty hallway towards him. The voices of his buddies went numb as his heart raced and all he could think to do was act natural. He fumbled against the wall he was leaning against, trying to find a more natural stance while making his best effort to avoid looking at her luscious form. He could not. Just when realized that he had not once looked away from her since seeing her walk towards him, their eyes met. She seemed to smile back, but he knew not whether it was of simple politeness or similar thoughts about him. Often when passing, she would wave or say a polite hello and he had managed to deal with those events. He had wondered in the past if she had noticed him (had she just glanced at him?), but never convinced himself he should do anything about it. Well, that's not true. He had convinced himself it was necessary, and he repeatedly had "no choice" but to say something to her day after day, but somehow when he was in sight of her, all words left him. It was all he could do to keep from staring every time he was within sight of her. And she had caught him looking at her time and time again, despite his strong effort to not let her know he had a crush on her. He had thought of all the right words to use, a thousand charming ways to innocently begin a conversation with her, but each night he would have to go to sleep thinking up a better line. Perhaps she wasn't the right one since he couldn't bring himself to talk to her. He would certainly never be able to act natural in her presence, so he pushed it to the back of his mind. Eventually, thoughts of the girl numbered less and less each day, and he could live life again without having to think of this "problem." He knew he was dooming himself, but his shyness condemned him. Twenty years later he told his buddies of how he had once believed he loved someone, but their married asses felt no pity for him. "You shoulda just asked her out, then you'd know whether she was the one, man." Twenty years later, those words would haunt him every day while he drove in his empty car on his way to work in the morning, every day on his way back, and in between coffee breaks and day-dreams. He no longer even wanted to find anyone else. He knew had blown his chance. His gravestone reveals nothing of his situation, for printed next to his name lies the name of his age-old crush--next to him for all eternity. Visitors to the graveyard assumed she had been his wife, for he had engraved an imagined birthday and death-date for her as well, along with loving words for her. Finally there was the epitaph covered in dirt that no one would see: "Our love will go on."