Day by day we're no further then 50 feet from each other, yet sometimes the distance feels light years away. We've never spoken, though we communicate perfectly. When I watch him move, the rest of the world drops dead. My God, he's beautiful. We glance over at each other shyly, in shifts. Every so often our eyes will meet, and our gazes will stay locked for sometimes up to 45 seconds. I always look away first. We send out our silent messages that the other one apparently misinterprets. During these stare-downs, I become keenly aware of my respiration, my heartbeat and the blush in my cheeks. I feel my lips part as I breathe heavier, my chest rise and fall in that slow, langerous rhythm, my pupils dialate beyond my control. Always, I nervously fiddle with my hair, and the sudden movement of my hands seems unnecessary and exaggerated. I remember the time he was walking behind me, so close I could feel his breath lightly on the back of my neck. I wanted to stop so abruptly that he bumped into me. But I couldn't, because then my arms would have snaked around his shoulders and I would have kissed him and have been unable to stop. We pass each other in slight, deliberate ways. When I'm in the room with two doors opposite each other, I'm always leaving through one as he enters through the other. In my peripheral vision I catch sight of his shirt; I somehow know that he sees nothing more then the thick, windowed door closing after a blonde head. Once we were walking towards each other; steadily and with a definate sense of purpose. Our eyes fixed squarely on one another. We were so focused I thought that we just may crash right into each other. We got so close we could see the whites of each others eyes, then suddenly, in perfect unison, we each veered to our right and kept on going without looking back. What a rush; better then sex and we didn't even touch. Speech is out of the question. We're locked in a silent battle of wills, one that I refuse to lose.