She looked right through him, as if he weren’t there, as if he were diaphanous as a dream, transparent as skyscraper glass. He, in fact, didn’t exist, at least as far as she was concerned. For all intents and purposes, he was invisible, barely a phantom, indeed a sub-phantom--- incorporeal, impalpable. He was convinced that she loved someone, or maybe “something,” else, and as a consequence, he felt that he had been sentenced to love her remotely, as if he had been relegated to love from an exo-planet orbiting a distant, barely perceptible sun. Nonetheless, he learned to live with this unrequited and unacknowledged love that he felt for her. As he stepped into the crowded throng, just off Times Square, he donned his sunglasses, stared blankly ahead, and merged with the multitude, confident that she wouldn’t notice him even if she wanted to.
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