I Hear Violets Are Blue.

 

She wondered how someone that beautiful and observant could be so blind. She casually dropped hints all the time but he never understood them. It seemed as though he could see through everything except her heart. She glanced at him as he sat next to her studying. His blonde hair, normally short, had grown long and fell in his deep bottle green eyes. His face was contorted in a look of pure confusion and his tongue peeked out of his mouth as his mind ushered in the information on the page. His large hands had made his pencil seem abnormally small; in fact the pencil seemed to be lost in his hands.  He was tall so he was hunched over quite a bit in his desk; it’s amazing that he fit at all. His personality didn’t match his body. He was an athlete, a basketball player, who is extraordinarily talented. It would be easy to be over confident, cocky and a general displeasure to be around but instead he was humble, quite and sweet.

She thought back to when they had become friends, it had been right after her mother died. All of her friends at the time had tried so hard to comfort her but all they did was make things worse. One day in particular she had been having trouble and she finally couldn’t hold it together anymore; she ducked into an empty classroom and let her pain, confusion and anger run down her face. At the moment she felt the most alone and was engaging in the most extravagant pity party, he was there. He had heard her and crept in the room and observed her until he took a step forward and his long legs bumped into a desk. She had looked up quickly and her eyes flashed danger. Before she could lecture him on the wrongness of eavesdropping on people, he rushed over to her and the look in his eyes calmed every shouting nerve in her body. All he said to her was “I’m here for you.” His voice had been deep, calming and honest. She felt a connection with him and began to tell him everything. They had been close ever since.

 

Not long ago however, her feelings changed. She became jealous when he would talk to other girls, which happened quite often. He was stunning, he was considerate, what wouldn’t these equally attractive girls like about him? He deserved them. She didn’t regard herself as pretty at all. She had long black hair and her skin was the color of a blank piece of paper. “No, not very interesting looking at all” she thought. She had slight, faded pink lines on her arms and legs from when she didn’t know what to say. He made her feel like these imperfections didn’t matter, as if in him she could be something beautiful. It didn’t matter though; she knew he would never think of her in that way. Loving him was torture but trying not to love him, hurt more somehow.

 

            She suddenly snapped back to reality. He had nudged her desk and she saw a piece of folded paper in front of her. Her heart smiled. He had a tendency to write her notes. She felt her pulse begin to race as it always did when she read something from him. She carefully unfolded the paper; she didn’t want to damage anything he put time into. Slowly she drank in the words in front of her and felt her heart stop. The words were clear but they couldn’t be for her. They couldn’t,

 

            “Roses are sometimes red

            I hear violets are blue.

            I’m not a poet,

            But I’m in love with you.”

 

She looked at him and he was staring back with questions swimming in his gorgeous eyes. She could see the vulnerability in them. He loved her? He loved her. She finally realized she was suffocating; she hadn’t taken a breath since reading the note the first time. She drew in a deep breath and the air explored every inch of her. She drew something on the paper and handed it back to him. He smiled as he saw the small red heart she had drawn on the very corner of the paper.