She'd forgotten what it felt like to feel her heart speed up, her eyes widen, her knees go weak. She forgot how she would react to you, how nice and familiar it felt to see your face and hear your laugh and have your eyes meet hers. Before you, she didn't have a muse; she didn't have anybody to reminisce about.

But one look from you, one nervous heart and averted eyes, was enough to send her to the place in her mind and heart reserved for you.

And suddenly, she found the purpose for that empty page in her favorite notebook. She found the feeling she'd been missing, and she felt okay again.

When she saw you, her heart swelled and burst at just your eyes looking deeply into hers like they would those months ago. Her heart skipped a beat at the moment when your hands connected, both pairs of eyes looking down as you smiled.

Then you twirled her and you laughed. "Only for you," you'd said, and she knew that she wouldn't be able to sleep for nights to come.

And when she laughed, you smiled at her, your eyes tired but warm. She wanted to hug you; she wanted your arms wrapped around her; she wanted to feel the warmth she'd been missing since that late December night.

She feels the slight warmth that radiates from you even across the table, and she feels at home, thinking in the present, not the past or the future.

And when you leave, all she can think about is the next time she can live in the present with you.

In the dark, she sits and wonders - what would happen if she told you how she felt? She likes to believe that you would meet her eyes and smile, despite the overwhelming odds.

Watching the moonlight stream in over the buildings and through her window, she likes to believe that, at some point, you were in love with her too.