Það er nokkuð greinilegt að ég er ekki best með titla…*Rolls eyes*

Og sorry með enskuna…ég skrifaði þetta upprunalega fyrir aðra síðu, en ákvað svo að senda þetta hingað líka =D



I looked at him, out of the corner of my eye, making sure he didn't catch me staring.

He never did. Even though I had been looking at him for three years now.

He never noticed.

Or maybe he's just used to it.

Either way, I kind of wanted him to notice.

I wanted him to come over, yell at me for being a fat, ugly stalker…I wanted him to hate me. I wanted him to give me a reason to stop liking him. To stop loving him.

But he never noticed.

He just left me to burn in the hell that I've created for myself.

He just left me to cry myself to sleep every single night, knowing that he'd never be mine.

I wasn't his type. He didn't love me.

He was my type. I loved him.

Every time he walked into the room, his chocolate brown eyes just…drew me in. And he had that kind of hair that you just want to…you just want to run your fingers through it, you know?

So pretty, brown and curly…

Then there was that body of his. It's like…he's like one of those gods, you know?

And his laughter…it was like…like…I don't know. Nothing compares.

And I knew he wasn't just looks. I'd seen him do volunteer work at lots of charity events. He's so…nice.

But…but he isn't one of my people.

Regardless to what you might think, he is, indeed, not the popular one in this situation.

I am.

I'm the one that will be voted Homecoming Queen, Prom Queen…you name it.

He's the one that knows his place, and isn't trying to change it. He knows that he isn't popular. He knows that he doesn't have any friends…he doesn't know that both of those things could come to him so easily, if he just…tried. And he's always so subtle about it. That's the thing about my guy friends. They don't know. They're always trying to be better then everyone else. And when they aren't trying, they're just acting.

But not him. He knows his place, and he's not going to risk loosing it.

He likes drawing. He does it all the time.

Under the tree, at lunch time.

He never goes anywhere else. Always that same tree. Even when it's raining.

Right now, I'm sitting under that tree, waiting for him, watching him as he makes his way over.

“That's my tree,” he says. Not rudely, but not very nicely either.

It was his tree. Everyone knew that. Everyone respected that. Everyone respected him even though nobody befriended him. He just had that thing about him. People liked him, they just never made their move.

But now I was.

“I…I want to talk to you,” he looked surprised. I guess he wasn't expecting that.

He sat next to me, our legs touching. I felt butterflies in my stomach.

“Alright. Talk, pretty face,” he smiled slightly. I smiled back, my stomach not able to settle down.

God, I was nervous.

“Umm…I was…I was wondering if…I was just thinking…you know…if…” my cheeks reddened, as I looked down at my hands. This was going to be hard.

“As hard as I tried, I couldn't make any sense out of that,” he said with a smile.

I took a deep breath. Even though I knew he'd probably turn me down, I had to know that I'd at least…tried.

"I…you know…I like you. Like you, like you,“ I said, looking at my hands.

I didn't know how to confess my feelings. I wasn't used to it. Usually, there was someone doing just this, to me.

My stomach sank, as he stood up. I didn't look at him, feeling my eyes water.

I knew he would turn me down. I just didn't know that it would hurt so much, knowing that someone you love…just didn't love you back.

”Hey…“ he whispered, when I didn't look at him. Slowly, I darted my eyes upwards.

He was holding out his hand.

”I want to show you something,“

I was a bit stunned, as I took his hand and stood up.

I had been expecting immediate ‘hell no!’

He led me to his car, motioning for me to sit down.

”Won't we…won't we miss classes? They'll start in five minutes,“ I pointed out. I was nervous. My body felt kind of cold, even though it was hot outside.

”I don't care about classes,“

That was all he needed to say to get me to sit beside him in his old Mercedes.

He didn't say anything, as we drove farther away from our school.

I didn't say anything either.

Although it was only fifteen minutes, the car ride felt like days.

He stopped the car, and stepped out, motioning for me to do the same.

I did.

He held out his hand, and I took it, as he led me into a small forest, just outside of town.

I'd never been there before.

His hand felt so warm…so comforting. I had never imagined him to feel like this. This was much better.

”I've been coming here a lot, for a long time. It's my favorite place,“ he said, as we walked into a small clearing.

”It's beautiful,“ I said.

It was true. It was breathtaking.

He motioned for me to sit down, on a small stump.

I did.

”You know, I come here to think,“ he walked over to one of the bigger trees, ”To sort my feelings out.“ He found a hole in it, and reached his arm inside, ”But sometimes I can't sort them out. Sometimes I just want to…forget,“ His voice was so melodic, ”But I don't want to just burry my memories. I want to have something that reminds me of them, after I've found a way to move past things,“ He pulled a scrap book out of the hole, ”Sometimes I write songs, but mostly, I draw. To remember after I've forgotten,“

He walked over to me, handing me the scrap book, ”But lately, not even drawing has been able to help me move past things,“

I opened the scrap book, and let out a small gasp.

These pictures weren't only amazing. They weren't only drawn as if a professional had done them.

They were of a girl. A very familiar girl.

It was me.

”You see, Elaine, I kinda like you back,"