She watches from the outskirts. She loves him. She loves him. She loves him. She loves her? A woman walks along the sidewalk holding hands with a man who will never understand. Never will he know of what happened between his girlfriend and the woman sitting on the bench behind him. Mainly because there is nothing to tell. Maybe something, some little hint of a romance that would never actually come to be. A fleeting look between starcrossed lovers to scared to actually be. Being a couple, starting a romance wouldn't be an atrocity but because of who they are, two seperate lives on the same path though neither one can accept what they love. Love has no gender, love is neither a woman or a man, but unfortunately love has gender. Love has a man and a woman, and a woman and a woman or a man and a man. But the latter are forbidden, forced to hide in shadows, fleeting glances of something that turned into nothing after all. Like the woman I watched walk the sidewalk, holding the hand of a boyfriend who will never know.