This Is My Pain

She didn't speak a word of English and my French was shoddy at best. Every morning, on our way to work, we would exchange glances and acknowledge each other with morning salutation.

She sipped coffee slowly as she walked through the crowded street with people chattering and clattering into each other. Her face shone like the morning sun, radiant and glorious, like the dawn of my happiness. I watched her weave through the crowded street and into the department store on the corner, I had a bird's eye view and enjoyed every moment.
I spent moments in my head fantasizing about what is and what could be; I held her in my arms and whispered softly into her ears, I told her she was love and everything perfect to me. I held love in my arms.
She walked out of the store and knocked right back to my senses; back to dreaming about her timely touch and hoping one day, I would spend my final moments in her arms. I guess I was never with my senses after all. This is my pain.