“He could have watched her all night. He could watch her for an eternity and still never be able to capture the essence of what it is that makes ‘love’.”

“He was supposed to be reading, but all he could do was watch her and love her bare arms, her Alice band, her straight back, the sweet tilt of her chin as she tucked the instrument under it...”

“In the garden, the Captain of the Guard stared up at the young woman's balcony, watching as she waltzed alone, lost in her dreams. But he knew her thoughts weren't of him.She stopped and stared upward. Even from a distance, he could see the blush upon her cheeks. She seemed young—no, new. It made his chest ache. Still, he watched, watched until she sighed and went inside. She never bothered to look below.”

“He wanted to tell her how much he preferred to look at her, that only by watching could he memorize her, and take her and possess her. He did not know how to explain that he could not touch better or more fully with his hands than he could with his eyes. Seeing encompassed all at once; a touch was limited to one spot at a time.”

“Could she kiss him? Would he allow her that? Was that something he could pretend was nothing? What about making love? Could she just open up her legs and pull him inside her and have him all she wanted and later give her assent that it was nothing?”

“Was he still, somehow, watching over her?”