It was eight years today.

Changing bodies, changing minds. She was someone, something special, more than just plush dolls and milk cartons and crumpled notebook papers.

And there was always the attempt to catch her eye, to make her look at him, even for the briefest moment, an acknowledgment of insignificant presence.

But through is not the same as at, and he was a non-entity.

Six years, all for a passing glance, smiles of recognition.

It was two years today.

Special morphs into dolls and cartons and paper, and diamonds lose their glitter and shine.

It is today.

And she becomes to him what he was to her.

A nonentity.