Him

A short snippet of a story of a girl who is falling head over heels for this artistic guy who she has had her eye on for a while and her decision to stay hidden or finally introduce herself.

  His soul was fire and his eyes were ice. I couldn't understand how somebody so perfect could be even remotely human. I admired from a distance. Not wanting to be seen, not wanting to get hurt. I had built up walls to protect myself from vulnerability like love. So here I sat faux reading and watching him create something elegant in his sketchbook- I couldn't see it but I would bet money that it was fantastic.

  His kind was my kind, quiet and too captivated in something to pay any attention to the world around us. The only thing that separated us were our muses, his was the pencil in his hand and mine was him. I didn't want to sit idly by and watch him get eaten alive by those parasites of girls that lurked around him; always asking if he needed a model to paint, but I didn't have the nerve to speak to him and so I didn't. Tragic, I know.

  I probably never would have spoken to him if we weren't in the same English class. AKA the only class I ever open my mouth and spew my thoughts into the void that is the average high school student's brain. The truth is I wasn't a people person, however my family refused to believe that truth and tried to make friendships for me. Yeah, when you sit me next to an illiterate at the dinner table things are going to get messy...

  Needless to say, many forced human interactions ended in disaster. I just never felt like I belonged in my generation. My mind was years older than my body and I didn't know how to function within my age group. I found conversation meaningless and just plain stupid when it came to people my age. But when he speaks it is almost like the whole of the Earth speaks with him. Every word pouring from his mouth is filled with heat and passion, not one syllable absent of heart. It is enough to make a bibliophilic tear up.

  That's it I have to say something to him...

  I rose from my spot along the concrete platform and snapped my book shut.

  I'm going to do it.

  I held myself high and walked towards him. His hand busily gliding his pencil over the paper.

  What do I say?

  I was five feet and closing...

  It isn't too late to turn back...

  Now three feet...

  I can't breath...

  One foot...

  Speak you fool!

  "Hi."

  I'm going to vomit, but in a nice way.

  He looked up from his drawing and smiled.

  "Hey..."