But sitting here, across the road from her house, I know. I don't think I was lying to myself when I first thought she'd be the one. I genuinely believed I could talk to her. Now, however, I know for sure. Not today, not tomorrow, not next week. And some time soon, after I move back in, I'll wake up jabbering and sweating and panicking in the middle of the night and she'll look at me and be afraid and hope that I'll talk to her, and I'll see it in her eyes. The sure and certain knowledge that I won't. The sure and certain knowledge that there probably is someone out there in whom I'd confide, but that it's not her.
I see a movement in the front room, and suddenly I know that I can't be sitting here waiting for them to make the decision for me. I have to leave.
Engine on, into first, and smoothly away from the side of the road. Grasp the steering wheel firmly because my hands are shaking. Look at the clock. Must have been an hour that I sat there. Late afternoon, New Years day.
Automatically flick the music on. Bob. Idiot Wind.
I haven't known peace and quiet so long I can't remember what it's like. Time for me and Bob to hit the nearest pub.
