Affection
There were four in total. Sometimes, there were more, sometimes, there was less. But - as this is written today - there were four.
The first was golden haired - but not entirely. Almost like his intellect - so much, so abundunt, but yet - he had humor and laughter like the browns scattered amongst the gold. She was drawn to his form, his mind, the way he talked, joked. She liked all of it. She liked him - but he thought naught for her. They had conversed once, perhaps.
The next two shared much - the same name, the same arrogance, the same way she had to look up at them. But, they were different. She was fascinated by one's arrogant attitude, yet she reveled under the other's subtle kindness. Both had a love for the same thing, and, alas, it was not her. Secretly, she dreamed, but knew it would never be.
And the last - of the last, she knew not what to say. None had great love for him, but yet, why did she let his gentle touches, his protecting, almost embraces, be? She knew naught, but that perhaps he like her, and she liked that.
She was quite certain about affection. Certain, that she did not know.