4I have lived the past seventeen years of my life with countless crushes, uncountable lustings and millions of daydreams about that 'special person', most of which that have never gone anywhere 'cause I've been too scared to do anything about how I feel.
So this is a Short Story on all of the feelings that I ever felt times about one hundred- million- billion.
Enjoy.
Loving someone is hard. But loving someone who doesn't know you exist is harder.
I watch him from across the room. He is so perfect. He is talking to one of his idiotic friends, hardly a worthy person for someone of his flawlessness to talk to. I stare at his mouth as he speaks, always slightly curved into a smile. Soft lips, like Cupid's bow. How many times have I imagined his perfect mouth against mine? Far too many times to be healthy I know.
I lift my eyes up his face, slowly admiring each of his features as I have done many times before. A strong, straight nose, slightly hooked down. How is it possible for him to have a perfect nose?
His eyebrows are not big and fluffy but nor are they small and slim. They are perfectly balanced in the middle of those. A brown slightly lighter than his hair just made his eyes stand out even more.
Oh god, his eyes. Each night those eyes stare at me from my dreams. Sapphire blue that are deep like the ocean. A strange combination, I know. But there is no other way to describe them. His long dark eyelashes, that on anyone else would look foolishly feminine, but not on him. They did little but draw your eyes to his and when he looks at you, by god, your heart stops. You can't breathe. Your mind works in overdrive trying to find a way to understand what takes over your body.
Not that I know what it is like to be looked at by him. He never looks at me. Why would he when he is surrounded by such beautiful people all the time?
He looks around the room as he friend keeps talking. He pulls his hand through his soft brown hair. Light brown and ever so straight. He never uses hair product, why would he need too? His hair is always perfect.
He smiles over in my direction, my heart has stopped. He waves. I lift my hand to wave back when a man who is standing behind me calls out in greeting. I feel a blush creeping up my cheeks, tears well in my eyes. I know this is an overreaction. Once, just once, I'd love him to see me. I feel like an unloved child. Wanting some show of affection, anything to just show that they know they're there.
I have known him for nearly five years; I don't even think he knows my name. I don't think that if he saw me in the street he'd know that we've spent nearly eight hours a day, five days a week together for five years. We have never shared words with each other, apart from the occasional "excuse me". In five years, I've never spoken to him. Whenever I am near him, no words can come out from my mouth. I know that many people think I am dim and stupid because I never speak and I avoid looking up from my desk, for I know that if I did my eyes would immediately seek him out and I would not be able to stop looking at him. Like now.
He stands up from the desk he was sitting on. I swallow, panting slightly. Oh, how I disgust myself. My eyes devour his body. I know I have say it often. But he is perfect. A light green shirt, the top few buttons undone. His chest is smooth and hairless, that much I can tell from the little I can see. The shirt sits perfectly on him, the sleeves showing off his sculptured arms. He lifts his foot onto the table, tying his shoe. My eyes slowly travel up his leg; starting at the ankle, up his strong calves, travelling across his muscular thighs and around the curve of his buttocks. Even with his dark jeans, I can see the muscles in his legs bulging. All that runs in my mind is how I wish he wasn't wearing those darn pants.
I blush furiously at my own thoughts. I am a sick person. Insane. That surely is the only reason why I am so obsessed with him, I'm crazy. Ill in the head. Maybe I need help. I try to think of all the reasons why I should get help.
Because it's creepy.
Well, that's a given.
Because he doesn't know I exist.
But maybe he does and he's just shy?
Because every day for the past five years I only think of him, nothing else, just him.
Well, at least I can say that I don't just think about myself?
Because I'm never going to have him and because I'm never going to do anything about how I feel.
But if I'm never going to have him and I'm not going to do anything about how I feel, what's wrong with looking? What's wrong with imagining that I do have him? What's wrong with pretending? I'm not hurting anyone. No one knows. It's not a problem if I don't hurt anyone, is it?
I keep staring at him. He finishes tying his shoe. Surely more time then that has past then that? He stretches widely, his arms out. All I think is how I would so love to run and have those long, muscular arms wrap themselves around me. I stare as he smiles at his friend again, waves and walks towards me. I gulp. Don't get your hopes up, I think. He grins broadly as someone punches him lightly in the arm. I look down at my tightly clasped hands then up again.
He's passed me. I release the breath that I didn't know I was holding. I know that I should just look down again. I shouldn't look up. But I do. He is hugging a very pretty girl. She kisses his cheek and he kisses hers back. They are hugging again. She is stunningly beautiful. Long brown hair that reaches her mid-back even though it's tied up. Her face is lightly tanned, perfectly white teeth. I can't see her eyes because they're closed. She is so pretty. He and she would make the perfect couple just because they are both so perfect.
She's happy. He's happy. I hate her.
I often remind myself of a flower in a very large garden. I have never really thought of what kind of flower I most am like. Perhaps I am like a Dracuunculus vulgaris, a rare and horrible smelling flower? Who wishes for nothing more than to be a sweet-smelling rose? No matter how common they are. All these beautiful, sweet-smelling flowers grow around me, hundreds and thousands of them. All of us wanting to be the ones chosen, the ones to picked and admired. They all grow around me and I am dwarfed in their presence. I slowly wither as all the other flowers around me are the ones picked. For no one wants a vile smelling flower when there are beautiful, sweet-smelling ones there.
I slowly gather my things from the desk. I haven't touched them since I placed them down an hour ago. I have to go; I can't stay here any longer. Not when I'm having my dreams shredded before my eyes, again.
I stare at the ground as I walk, I always look down. Some lady once told me that it was a defence mechanism; that I did it so I wouldn't have to face people and ultimately not get hurt. But she was an idiot. It's not so complicated as all that. I just don't want to look at him; I don't want to make a fool of myself. If I see him, I can't help but stare. The rest of my body stops working; I stand there looking a fool. I can't go through that, not with all my other issues.
I have heard that pain comes with love. That one must accept another's flaws to love them. To me it sounds like a compromise. Doesn't that mean that we must give up on what we want and truly desire in exchange for someone that doesn't quite fit the bill? What if I have found someone who is perfect in every way? Why couldn't I have him?
Because he doesn't want you.
I hate myself sometimes. Already every moment that there are people around me my dreams are crushed, I really don't need my internal voice telling me too. Not to mention, it's just starting to repeat itself now after all these years.
Another day passes, another part of my heart dies. It would nice if one day, just one day, it stops hurting. There are not many things that I know, but this is one. I will love him until the day I die. I will love him with all my heart, all my soul and all my being.
And it will never stop hurting.
I was writing this to enter in a Short Story competition but after about ten minutes of writing I realised that I had already gone over the 500word limit and there was no way that I was willing to cut it down. So now it's here for you to enjoy, dear reader.
Please review, I rarely ever write in first-person and this was my first attempt at writing in present-tense, so I want to know what you think. Good? Not bad? Crap? Let me know!