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Hopeless Daydream

By , Lorain, OH
“Hey look! Pablo!” I turn my head and peek slyly to see you. My friends and I giggle, hoping you won’t notice. My heart starts beating fast. You glance at me for a second. I see a flicker of interest, but it’s only for a second. I could’ve imagined it. You’re so beautiful. I wish I could tell you how I really feel. I wish you would give me a chance. Just see what kind of person I am. I just want to know you. Being friends would be just enough. Why can’t you see how much I like you, how much I care. I know this sounds silly….I tell myself over and over, you’re just a boy. Just a boy. But you’re more than that. You’re everything I want; you have the qualities I need. I want to know what you’re really thinking. I want to know your past, what you got for your fifth birthday to how you lost your first tooth. I want to know your goals in life, your fears, your accomplishments. I want to know what makes you happy or sad. I want to be there for you, a shoulder to cry on. Is this just a desperate plea for love? Or could this be something else. I stay up at night just thinking of what I could do to make you want me. I keep thinking, maybe today will be the day that you’ll talk to me, realize that I’m the one you want and need. You’ll apologize for taking so long to realize I’m your true love. Why can’t you see? Every glimpse of you is what it takes to make my day. I listen to song after song, dedicating them to you. Not just one Taylor Swift song can sum up what I feel. My life would change in a second if you were in it. Could it be? Could it ever be? The doubt is there, clear in my mind. You will probably never like me the way I like you. I want to say that it’s your lost, not mine, but I’d be lying. My heart will have to go on after I release this hopeless banter about how I feel about you. You will never understand, but stay beautiful. I hope the next girl you are with appreciates what she has that I will never have. You’re the daydream that I’ll never get to hold but I keep holding on.





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