Rubbish

She first noticed him across the hall once in one of her more reflective moods. She reflected how much he reminded her of one of her favorite singers, a man with a sensitive soul and a voice that could break her heart. (She often reflected what rubbish her reflections were after she reflected on them.) He was quite tall and always walked with a strikingly straight and masculine posture, so that she spotted him the instant he appeared in the room. Unfortunately for her, she lacked the ability to boldly meet a stranger's eyes, especially one whom she was dying to talk to. There was absolutely no excuse for her to walk over and introduce herself, even when they two sat alone at separate tables not a few feet apart. Try as hard as she might, she could not think of any topic of conversation she could strike up with him, just to get his attention, to get him to notice her. She knew his name, and was ashamed of the fact, because she had to research to discover it. She knew he played the violin, as she happened to work at an orchestra concert; she snagged one of the programs on her way out, just to learn who he was. Music major, no doubt. Huh. Too bad she'd given up playing an instrument long ago... five years ago, to be exact. (Thus, she had no reason to visit the music building outside of departmental work, other then as a short cut to the art building on cold mornings.) Still, she was happy with her art. Happier than she could ever be with anything else, despite the way some of her "friends" looked down on her for it. They were "intellectual" because they could constantly and obnoxiously spout facts that no one really cared to hear. Someday she would be a Michaelangelo and paint an inspiration. She'd show 'em. And often she promised herself that her pursuit of art would never be a hobby; never tossed on the back burner to be replaced by family life. If anything, the two could co-exist.
In any case, sadness set in whenever reality did. Life was good, but it wasn't satisfying; it was happy, but not thrilling. When was it going to be wonderful instead of just "fine"?
Good question, she reflected.