"In Another Life, We Stayed"
Entries from Lorenz's Diary
March 15
I don’t know what it is about her.
Maybe it’s the way she walks—like she’s carrying secrets in her silence, like the world has yet to catch up with the way she sees things.
Or maybe it’s the way she looks at me. Not like I’m someone to be impressed, not like I’m someone she has to figure out—but like she already knows me. Like she sees straight through all the things I never say out loud.
And I don’t mind it.
In fact, I think I like it.
March 24
Mathea asked me today, “Why do you look at her like that?”
Like what?
I didn’t answer. Because the truth is—I don’t even know how I look at her. I just know that when she’s near, my eyes find her before I can think twice about it. It’s instinct.
But if I had to put it into words?
I look at her like she’s something I don’t want to lose.
April 2
She caught me staring today.
It wasn’t intentional—I just wanted to see how she looked when she wasn’t aware of me. And she looked… peaceful. Like she existed in her own world, untouched by the noise of everything else.
But then she turned and met my gaze.
She didn’t look away.
Neither did I.
For a moment, it felt like there was nothing else. Just the sound of our breaths, the quiet space between us, and the weight of something neither of us dared to name.
And then she smiled. Small, barely there. But I caught it.
And I felt it settle somewhere deep inside me.
April 15
She wears flat shoes sometimes.
It’s a small thing, really. But it means I don’t have to look down as much when we talk. She’s there—right in front of me, close enough to touch.
And maybe that’s why today felt different.
We were standing outside after the worship service. The crowd had thinned, but I stayed. She stayed too.
For a second, we were just looking at each other. Eye to eye. Close enough that I could see the way the light reflected in her irides. Close enough that I could hear the small hitch in her breath when I leaned in—just slightly.
I didn’t say anything.
Neither did she.
But she didn’t move away.
And I think that was enough.
April 27
Janine mocked her cat today. Said Monk looked like a monkey.
I don’t know why, but it annoyed me.
So I took him—just held him in my arms, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And I told them, “He’s not like that. He’s actually a very nice cat.”
I didn’t even look at her then. But I felt her.
I felt her presence, the way she was watching me. And I wondered if she saw what I was really doing—if she knew that anything precious to her is precious to me, too.
Janine teased her about it later.
Said I kissed Monk.
Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t.
But I think, in that moment, I just wanted to feel something that was hers, something she cared for.
Something that connected us, even in the smallest way.
May 10
She walked away today.
I stayed behind, but I watched her go.
And at the last moment, she turned back and smiled at me.
She didn’t have to.
But she did.
And that’s when I knew—some part of her sees me too.
Some part of her feels this, just as much as I do.
I don’t know what this is, where it’s going, or if it will ever become something more.
But for now, I’ll take what I can get.
Because if nothing else, I want to stay.
May 15
I wonder if, in another life, I was braver.
If in another life, I reached for her hand instead of letting the space between us remain.
If in another life, she didn’t just smile and walk away—but stayed.
And if in that life, we became something more.
Maybe we did.
Maybe we still will.
But for now, I’ll keep watching.
And I’ll keep staying.
Because that’s the only way I know how to love her.
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