Since I’m a fan of anything remotely resembling a love story

This was too beautiful not to share. Courtesy of The Chucklehut:
Sometimes I can see it all from the bus and I don’t even need to hear a single word:
They sit on a low concrete bench set into the sort of corporate plaza that blunts the vitality even of this city’s nerve center at nine a.m. She is young and lovely with straight black hair, honey-tea skin, big almond eyes, and an ingenuous round face on which she bears an expression of paralyzing tension. She huddles in her down jacket holding her slim jean-clad legs tightly together.
He sits next to her, young and hunky, tousled blonde locks and a square jaw, plaid shirt jacket, faded jeans and worn sturdy boots. His eyes are on her as she stares out at the street; his body is turned toward her and his arm encircles her shoulder. Their faces are close together, he’s speaking softly to her. Her knees begin to bounce, small movements getting faster. She doesn’t seem to be in control. He turns her toward him and kisses her, tenderly, deeply. Halfway through the kiss her knees stop shaking. Their lips part; she rests her head on his chest and and he lays a quiet hand on her quiet leg. The bus pulls away, taking me with it.