I don’t fall in love with stereotypes. Never the jock nor the class genius. The class clown is like a little brother yet to be tamed. The outcasts are neglected kids I try to bring back into the playground. The musician and dancers are muses who run to me for advice, knowing that although I cannot do what they can, I see what’s wrong and right and can help them hone their crafts. The artist is good company but we see the world differently, he in colors and lines yet to appear on paper while I am in the world of letters and words yet to be written and heard.
But why oh why do I find myself drawn to you? With your quiet smiles and witty answers – you are a cool and collected class genius. Why do I feel excited whenever you turn around to smile and share whatever small silliness you have discovered? Your tricks and beautiful smile can light up even the darkest moods and cheer up a sullen child. In class, when I sit next to you, I feel the other girls looking at you, their eyes boring into our backs, but I smile on, not quite caring how long this pocket of happiness will last. You can sing. You can dance. You can beat them at their games.
You have everything. I am nothing like you. So why even hope?
In every moment I see you smile at me, looking if I’m laughing at your jokes. The way you ask if I did fine after an exam. The way you listen when I’m speaking. I keep everything in my heart and in my memories. I think I’m in love.