The Picture (in iambic pentameter)

On the morning when I chanced to see him
I knew we were meant to be together
But me moved in such different circles
I wondered if it could ever be so
As our shy eyes met, his lips curved upward
I slowly raised my hand and smiled back
His friend tugged his arm ad pulled him along

The next time I saw him, he turned away
Knowing not what to feel I departed
I slowly made my way to the classroom
Wondering how things had changed so quickly
I sat in my chair, someone rambled on
But I heard no words, only gibberish
We had only exchanged a quick smile
And although I knew nothing about him
I felt ripped in half because he had turned
I felt very sick, so I quickly stood
I ran from the room and through many tears
I threw up the lunch that I had not had
I held the sides of the cracked toilet seat
Holding myself up and gasping for air

My eyes snapped open, I looked at my room
I slowly rolled over, under the sheets
And my eyes came to rest on a picture
It hung straight and beautiful on my wall
It hung by itself on that violet wall
My eyes deeply studied that portrayal
Then I realized who it was … it was he
He was smiling in his pale gold frame
And I realized that he would never turn
And that that suffering had been his own
Raising my hand I smiled back again