Being nice.

Thats gotta be all she's doing. Five-foot-two with eyes of blue. Leaving finals today, I knew it was the last time I'd see her for the term, the last time before Christmas, the last time that year. So as I passed her, I bent down behind her head and whispered "have a Merry Christmas." Her head, bent so seriously over her paper, peered up at me, and her face went from studious and solemn to broad and smiling, almost without thought. There was a warmth there I had not expected -- or had I? I dunno. Maybe I'm imagining things. What does she think of me? What goes through her mind when she sees me? What goes through her heart? She probably just thinks I am fun and am nice. It can't be anything else. I must just be seeing what I want to see.