I could not stop looking at him.
I do not blame myself for this. It’s just that I cannot help but admire the way his broad shoulders move when he laughs; the way his muscles tense under the black t-shirt he is wearing that does nothing but accentuate the muscles underneath; the way his hair stands up in a crazy, untamed mess. I imagine myself running my fingers through his hair, trying to smooth the soft strands down on his head.
And still, it does not matter what he wears, or how he looks. He is still so beautiful to me.
I know it sounds weird to call a guy ‘beautiful’, but I am simply stating the truth. He is so, so beautiful, it hurts.
Of course, he does not notice me. He is too busy talking and laughing with his friends—too busy to notice that I am longing for him, every second of every minute of every day, from afar.
It has always been like this. From the moment I saw him walk through the door of my homeroom class on the first day of freshman year, with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, a shy half-smile on his handsome face, and his lean—yet muscular—physique not even the least bit slouched, I was out of my mind.
And even then, he never noticed me.
It has been three years and counting—the seasons coming and going—and as I continue to look—stare—at him, I know that nothing has changed. I know that things will always be this way; me, the lonely, invisible girl longing for him, the boy who will never once take a glance at me no matter what I do.
With my hair falling like a curtain around my face, I touch the pendant hanging from the necklace on my neck.
And I stare on.