English version of Danielle

She was small, with dark hair and eyes that contrasted  with her white skin. Danielle always had a smile on her face. She wasn’t a celebrity,  she was just a random girl that used to work in a museum in front of my library.Even In those cold days of winter she used to  wear a long skirt with some brown boots and also a red  bonnet with a flower on the top. In some mornings she used to cross the street to buy ‘The Times’ in my store,  and then she always said an enthusiastic “ HELLO”.

Outside, while she was trying to read the news she always had in her hand a cop of hot cappuccino that she drunk whenever she turned the pages, and the smoke from the cop flowed on the air along with her perfume.It was impossible not to keep an eye on her. The 'blue door' museum(as I used to call it) was just in front of my store, and in the middle of the morning she always got out to do this daily routine.

The lonely people always make an effort to picture some imagines of the others in their mind, even if they are not real, and I always imagined Danielle during the night at  her home  sitting on a sofa reading some  book  and then falling asleep. Then I dreamt I was there  so I could hug her or ,at least,just watching her sleep.

I passed years watching Danielle becoming this amazing woman. I even saw her first romance happen in front of my eyes. The two lovers kissing under the little roof near the blue door, and Danielle smiling intensively, and hugging him. I even saw her getting married and become pregnant.

The most sadness felling  that I ever experienced, was watching her leaving from our  small  Peterbourough community and moving out to Woking, some suburb of London.

Whenever I see someone, grabbing a hot cappuccino in a cold foggy morning, I always think of her, smiling, entering in my store  perhaps singing some pretty little song. In some mornings I just close my eyes and I can even feel her perfume flowing on the air and reach my store...