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I had been cooking most of my life, so it was easy for me to settle in and get myself established. About all the terrible things I had done in my life, about the things I had thought that made me a man, the things that truly made me a coward.

I developed a healthy, or unhealthy, contempt for my self.

She smiled at me, and greeted me by name, but she didn't come over to me. I spent alot of time in that week or so, trying to vanquish all of the inner demons that had been tearing at me constantly.

And gradually, I started to feel like myself again. Are we the sum of our experiences, or an ever changing set of sensibilities?

But I couldn't even look the girls at work in the eye.

I was so afraid of hurting someone else, that I would take no chances falling for anyone. She was a regular at the diner, I had seen her starting a month after I began working there.

All of this was taken in within the few seconds I dared to look at her.

I knew if she looked too deep in my eyes, she would see the shattered remains of what had once been me, and she would get up again.

I had never seen her this close before, and I got to see her details. The hair I had thought a rather ordinary brown, was highlighted buy a delicate red-gold. If she wore make-up, she wore it well, because I couldn't tell, if not, she needed none. Not mangled, if anything, it provided a charming accent to the rest of her flawless features.

As it was, she must have seen alot in that few seconds, because she spoke softly, and drew my focus back to her. But something I don't know that I have ever really seen before.

I wrestled with the sight of her beautiful face all red and splotchy, streaked with tears of a shattered heart. Somehow I managed to bring my eyes back up, and what I saw, nearly broke me. Or maybe I had just been blind for a long, long time. I managed to leave her with my name, one sentence and an apologetic smile.

People rarely go anywhere alone these days, it's like they have to carry a piece of familiarity along with them for support. How I wanted to sit down with her on many occasions, to look into her eyes and see what it was that made her special.

The second was that she looked absolutely beautiful with her small reading glasses, modest but tasteful. In my old life I had been some kind of charming, eccentric, but endearing. And every time I thought of sitting down with her, I saw images of a young girl crying, and an empty apartment. And I would go back to the kitchen not crying tears I couldn't cry at work. Then, one night, a typical slow Monday night, I was sitting alone in a booth smoking a cigarette, and in walked Rachel. Again the quiet "Hi", I hoped my reply didn't sound too much like a croak.

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