She is art. art, art, art. 

The type in which every time you say the word, contemplate any piece and she pops up. She isn’t the type you spot up for sell (because the artistry is too wondrous) or the type that anyone could even afford the immense cost of such pulchritude. She is the sun, or work of art, or masterpiece any artist unfathomably dreamt of. You know, like she could fit in any century and exceed any to ever exist.
She just has this power. Don't ask because I truly don't know. I imagine, (and yes my imagination is very strong apparently, blah blah cliché romance blah) going on a school trip and miraculously she's in my class. As if that's not lucky enough, I invent this love drunk idea that I may actually sit next to her on the bus. Crazy, right?
Unfortunately, it doesn't work how I plan because I already used all my luck to even be able to breathe the same air as her, (no matter the distance I believe she breathes out just for me to breathe in, is that pathetic? I hope not). She's so cool, the real cool kid that sits in the back while there's an endless tunnel of shouted bids for the seat next to her. Aisles flood so I just sit about half way back, not too far back where I don't belong, but not too close to the front (which would lead me down the path to never sit in the back) which is cool, right? Well anyways, I sit with some kid I didn't even recognize. As if it mattered the bus ride was for two things; 1. to reach point b from point a and then point a to point b 2. to constantly glance back as if I were trying to see the cars in an imaginary pursuit of her, but really just to look back and inhale her.

Supposedly our great class adventure is to the city art museum, (but we have the only piece worth wasting time on right before our eyes, I'll never get how everyone else couldn't understand, I mean it was so simple) which only added up to not having to be at school so everyone supported it obviously. Group by group, we roar into the building. Some chaperones showed up to dissect the class to attempt to make the experience less monotonous, and I guess being the shy, lonely kid had it's perk as I kind of just shaded in her group, close enough to count but not close enough to be noticed. 

Our first quest to conquer was the baroque period, (you know those doodles and buildings from the 17th and 18th century) led by Giovanni Bernini. I could imagine being one of his statue creations, frozen in time, along with her of course, for the pure visual enjoyment of others even though the enjoyment would be all mine. His sculpture "Apollo and Daphne" or "I and Her" if I had it my way. She had my eye the whole time, flowing in and out of daydreaming and dreaming of the day. I couldn't even pay attention to the pieces after I slowly trailed behind. Each wall seemed blurry while she was oh so clear. Stealing or sucking the everything as if she needed to become even more indescribable.
Around lunch time, my best friend shows up late from a dentist appointment or something. I would have mentioned him earlier but he wasn’t around to introduce. Plus, I like talking about her, he is my best friend but she is my everything. Ralston comes up with his dubious smile, but sighs with relief because we aren’t at school. We chit chat about novels that weren’t assigned to us but we decided to take into our hands to enjoy.

“You didn’t think the author would simplify such a plot by killing him, did you?” Ralston stutters.

I was in the middle of a reply, “No, not enti-” when I accidentally made eye contact with her. It wasn’t that it was bad, but my spine numbed and I drifted away from reality. She’s a brown eyed murder scene.

  Let me rewind eight months, eight endless months to June. I ran into her unintentionally, and honestly, I didn’t think anything of her… yet. It was only a matter of time before the spark caught fire and we talked and talked. Learning about her was the most exciting thing, like I was a little kid at my first fair. I’d reach in her mind and find my head cycloning (I’m aware this isn’t a word, but tornadoing doesn’t make sense but cycloning is geniussssss. I mean a cyclone is just a tornado in the ocean, the ocean being my mind and she would just spin freely creating inconsistent, but intoxicating waves. I don’t know if this was pointless or not but I tried, anyways.) We shared common interests in artists- whether it was musicians, authors, painters. In fact, the first time we truly started talking was when she was going to a concert of one of my favorite artists, Lana del Rey. Sadly, it was rained out, but it was a start, everything beautiful needs a start, and this minor, insignificant event occurring states away marked an unforgettable day on my life calendar.