A message to all members of VFD

Allure is a strange thing,

Found often in unexpected places.

Like libraries, perhaps,

Or in librarians themselves.

It can be serendipitous

Or it can require some digging below the surface

Before it reveals itself to the beholder.

Nevertheless, the allure of some

Is blatant, bold, and bewitching,

Or enigmatic,

And when it is seen

It simply cannot be ignored.

Such is the beauty and allure

Of a certain colleague of mine.

Her manner is calm, her attitude modest

Yet the way she smiles is intoxicating—

The way her scarlet upper lip curls ever so slightly,

The vivacious glint I see in her eyes—

It is enough to ensnare anyone she encounters.

And it is for this reason

That I write to you today:

It has come to my attention

That I have an issue of extreme importance

Surrounding this particular colleague—

I love her.

I do. I love her.

I love her for all her virtues—

Her unceasing empathy,

The enduring passion she puts into everything she does,

I love that she is intelligent—

Far more so than I could ever be—

And her wit.

I love her for all her talents—

I love the fact that she can order her favourite drink in 13 languages;

I love the way she makes fettuccine alfredo;

I love that she can tie a knot with a cherry stem using only her tongue.

I love her for all her imperfections.

I love how she has a dimple on her right cheek

But not on her left.

I love it when she snorts when she laughs,

Even though she claims it's not lady-like.

And when she dances in the kitchen

When there's no music playing,

I love her even more.

I love her.

That's my problem.

Because this woman,

With her unfathomable beauty,

Has given her nuptial promise to a most fortunate man

Who is perfectly suited for her—

He is clever, well-read, charming, a great friend—

In fact, he is my best friend.

And so through this poem

I announce to my associates

The reason for my disappearance,

Seeing as I will most likely be long gone by the time you read this.

I encourage you to not think any differently of me.

You may say that I'm running away from my problem—

Which is true.

But my biggest problem is that I am weak.

I can't stand to keep my emotions in a bottle with a cork.

But to let them out would be dangerous.

Emotions have a tendency to hurt, to destroy.

Sometimes in life we must put the happiness of others

Before our own preferences.

And with my typewriter and wool coat as my companions,

I retreat into the city, the fog shrouding me in secrecy.

Maybe we will meet again.

Maybe we won't.

The future is uncertain,

Just as it was meant to be.

The world is quiet here.