I loved him, but my stomach didn't. It always twisted into rigid knots, even though I only watched him from afar. I kept my distance, for his blue eyes sparkled too brightly and I was afraid his crooked smile would stop my heart. I cursed myself every night for being too shy and cursed him for being too popular. Maybe we would have been the perfect match if I had his confidence. Maybe he would pay attention to me if I weren't so lanky.
---
--
--
I loved her, but I held no spot in her heart. I could tell by the way her big brown eyes shied away from my gaze whenever I snuck a glance. I wish she knew who I really was. I'm called outgoing, but I don't like to be the center of attention. I want to be the way she is, but whenever I try to approach her, all I get is a look, a small smile flashing in her incandescent amber eyes. Maybe she'd love me back if I stopped acting like a know-it-all around my "friends." I'm unsure why I call them my friends, anyway.
--
--
--
Creative Writing class gave me way too much time to think about him. I sat by the window, mesmerized at how the world kept going while my heart sagged in my chest. My teacher was babbling about the assignment when a few words suddenly caught my attention: "Write a letter to the one you love." Absentmindedly, I snatched my pencil and began frantically scribbling down how I felt about him.
--
--
--
It was painful to listen to my teammates talk about their girlfriends. Each and every one of them had an enviable courage. My friends tell me that they'll "set me up." I tell them I like being single. I tell myself I won't be in any relationship. Until I have her in my arms, anyway.
--
--
--
I read that letter every night and it pains me when I see his name scribbled on the front. The words from the page echo in my head as I tuck it into my jacket. Words so sincere and honest, I'm confident for a moment that he would love me back if he read them. Only for a moment.
--
--
--
She walked so effortlessly. She was a few steps in front of me, and I felt my legs and heart speed up as I quickened my pace. I felt so confident that I was going to stop her right there and tell her how I felt. I was, anyway, before a small folded piece of paper fell from her pocket.
--
--
--
Back to Creative Writing. I take my seat at the window, wishing that a fairy would come and grant me the courage to show him the letter.
--
--
--
Is that my name on the front?
---
--
--
I loved her, but I held no spot in her heart. I could tell by the way her big brown eyes shied away from my gaze whenever I snuck a glance. I wish she knew who I really was. I'm called outgoing, but I don't like to be the center of attention. I want to be the way she is, but whenever I try to approach her, all I get is a look, a small smile flashing in her incandescent amber eyes. Maybe she'd love me back if I stopped acting like a know-it-all around my "friends." I'm unsure why I call them my friends, anyway.
--
--
--
Creative Writing class gave me way too much time to think about him. I sat by the window, mesmerized at how the world kept going while my heart sagged in my chest. My teacher was babbling about the assignment when a few words suddenly caught my attention: "Write a letter to the one you love." Absentmindedly, I snatched my pencil and began frantically scribbling down how I felt about him.
--
--
--
It was painful to listen to my teammates talk about their girlfriends. Each and every one of them had an enviable courage. My friends tell me that they'll "set me up." I tell them I like being single. I tell myself I won't be in any relationship. Until I have her in my arms, anyway.
--
--
--
I read that letter every night and it pains me when I see his name scribbled on the front. The words from the page echo in my head as I tuck it into my jacket. Words so sincere and honest, I'm confident for a moment that he would love me back if he read them. Only for a moment.
--
--
--
She walked so effortlessly. She was a few steps in front of me, and I felt my legs and heart speed up as I quickened my pace. I felt so confident that I was going to stop her right there and tell her how I felt. I was, anyway, before a small folded piece of paper fell from her pocket.
--
--
--
Back to Creative Writing. I take my seat at the window, wishing that a fairy would come and grant me the courage to show him the letter.
--
--
--
Is that my name on the front?
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