Baby, I want you.

I sat at The Grill this afternoon because my class was cancelled. My table was facing the side stairs that leads to the library, my back towards the river. Just as well, since I'd have to squint through the entire afternoon if I was sitting the other way around.
My eyes flitter back and forth, hoping to catch you in one of the many passers-by that walk to and fro from their various errands. At the same time I wished that you wouldn't, because of my choice of company. It would break your heart and twist your insides with jealousy to see me like this.
A movement at the top of the stairs catches my eye. For a moment, my breath snags in my chest because I swear that the silhouette belongs to you. My heart stops, then pounds at a million miles per hour. I can't tell for sure because at the head of the stairs the lighting is somewhat dim.
I say a silent prayer, hoping that luck sides with me. To be found out like this could lead to more unforseen and definitely unwanted disasters. The silhouette moves, the shape of the back, the shoulders and the beard unmistakably yours. But funny, you would have seen me by then. And you would have reacted.
The shape moves again, and slowly descends the stairs. My heartbeat slows a little. Maybe it's not you after all.
Suddenly the shape bends to pick up something. His daughter. Definitely not you. He slowly ascends back up the stairs.
As the light gives the man an identity, my mind wanders. His back, the shape of his head, the breadth of his shoulders, the color of his shirt; everything reminded me exactly of you. He was carrying his daughter. I thought to myself, This is how it would look like when you carry our daughter in your arms. Our daughter. 
I savored  those two words on my tongue. How precious it would be.
That scene melted my heart. It was perfect. The way the man's shoulders were slightly bent in a kind of protectiveness and possessiveness over his small daughter, the subtle hardness of his mouth that hinted that he didn't want anything bad to befall her, the way he grasped her tightly, showing affection and steel at the same time, just touched my heart.
You. And perhaps our little girl. That was all I could think about.
In my daydream, I didn't notice that the man had brought his daughter down from the library landing and that she was chasing pigeons behind me. Her father was dutifully following her around, a small smile splayed on his face, with a trace of pride in it. I guess that's how all parents feel towards their small children: love and pride.
Maybe in the near future it would be my turn to look upon my own flesh and blood with such an intensity of pure happiness emanating from my heart that it spills onto my face. With you. Us. And ours. Who knows?
One day, God willing.