I am not what he wanted. I am not what I thought I was: someone he could see himself craving at the break of dawn, every night just before his eyelids finally fluttered like depressed butterflies to sleep. I cannot believe I fell for him. It was such a short, quick, and miserably wonderful feeling. He had made me determined to become the person I was longing to be since a moment three summers ago. His perfection like a glossy painting, something two-dimensional that had some sort of greater beauty behind it; the thoughts that the artist claimed when creating the masterpiece. Untouchable, yet everything I wanted to trace my fingers upon. Why did I have such high expectations of this boy with his breathtaking eyes of blue ice? He would never like me, he would never even dare touch the thought of love . . . he would never even confirm my existence for as long as I sped through hallways, laughing, hating, and loving all at once. I was a little bird, he was a strong and frightening hawk, eyes souring, but never too closely. Why did he fascinate me so much? Because his emotions were well-hidden; there was something in his quietness and gentle smile that I read into deeply. Stop explaining and re-explaining yourself. You’ve already wasted so much energy on him. He will never like you, so stop trying to become his obsession while he is still your own.
The Coldest Eyes You've Ever Seen
January 17, 2013