A perfect love whose name we dare not speak.

It seems I've recently become smitten with a girl. Yes, it's a girl on a subway ad for Bank of America, but I promise my love for her is as genuine as any other love a man can have for a woman who doesn't really exist. For the last two weeks or so, almost every day, the future Mrs. Smith sits across from me on the A-train staring at me---unblinking. Each day I'm routinely transfixed by her flirtatious gaze; the hint of a coy, restrained smile. She's absolutely mesmerizing to me. She's cute and pretty. She's nice and normal. She's funny and edgy. She might even be Jewish which would no doubt satisfy the rents and ensure a large wedding spectacular. She even seems to be age-appropriate which would satisfy my skeptical friends. Whenever I see her on the train, I lose all focus. I can't read my book, I can only sit across from her and stare back. I think I even winked at her yesterday. This is so wrong. And yet...so right.