I am the girl in love with the wrong person. We all know the sort; the sweet and innocent in love with the evil villains; or the crazy ladies who get the best guys. I fall into the category of I'm-doing-something-bad-because-I-have-no-choice and the boy in question, well; he's one of a kind. See he's a detective and that's part of the problem of why I can never have him, never. I was the girl that worked for the men that wanted to kill him but I had no choice. None at all. Because in all fact it was me or my family. And I would never let them touch my sisters.

And so I was reduced to this. Forced to be with the people that repulsed me, and to never be with the one who has claimed my heart. And he does not know. And if he ever knew; it could kill him. This detective is so smart and brave and wonderful, and I can tell that he is caring and loyal from the way he treats everyone the same; from his beloved dog Snowy, to children and adults. He is the symbol of strength in our crumbling world and when I feel like my world is crashing and I need to escape and get away from this hell I'm living; I come here.

Here, to his window. Every night, same time, same place. And all I ever do is just sit and watch him. Whatever he may be doing I just sit, for fifteen minutes or so, and watch him. He may be writing he may be strolling listening to the radio, or he may be pulling his hair out in frustration because he can't work something out. It's at these moments that I want to go inside and comfort him, stroke his hair until he calms down. I want to be able to hold his dog, and care of him, and help him and be free! I want him to help me and be my escape. I need my escape and I find it in him. He is everything you could want. He never seems to have company, except the two inspectors and a couple of other faces but never girls. I don't believe that he's gay but I believe that he just doesn't have to time to socialise in his busy life. And what a life he has!

If I had a life even remotely close to half of that I would be overwhelmed. I might even be thankful for the attention of people trying to kill me not just emotionally.

I sat and watch through the window, underneath a small canopy that shelters me from wind and rain. I come here every day, even when I know that He won't be here. I just look in at his dad little fire, and the stacks of notes everywhere. Normally he's quite tidy but whenever he starts a case, you can tell because all of a sudden you find that his apartment is littered with pictures, posters and notes. Case studies and clues. He's very intelligent in that sense.

Once when I was watching while the rain poured around me he glanced over at me. I don't think he saw me because I ducked straight down. For my love can never see me, not even once. Not even in passing in the busy streets. Not even at the market when you accidentally brush past everyone. One little touch of déjà vu and his life would be in 10 times more danger then he could ever imagine.

My men, how it pains me to say that, would hunt him down. They don't care about him, they would just torture him to get to me and that is something that I would never do to him. His ginger hair in the air as usual, his beautiful face writhing in torture. No, I must continue to do what I hate to do, to save the one I love. The detective I love. I am the Girl That Loves The Boy. I am the girl that loves Tintin.