She’s the girl with the red hair, cascading flames, licking at her porcelain shoulders.
With the tilted smirk, making me wonder just what she’s capable of.
The girl with deep brown eyes, chocolate you can drown in, and lose yourself, like Augustus Gloop.
Staring into the distance, but still somehow into my soul at the same time.
She knows. She can hear my thoughts.
I’m reduced to liquid, a puddle or pathetic, lapping at the feet of the marble statue that is she.
I can’t produce words. Not directed to her. I’m not worthy.
Anyone else. I can speak to anyone but her. I talk to people around her. Myself. The walls. Anything.
I can feebly squeeze out “heyhowareyou”.
I rush through the sentence, tripping over my words, not waiting for her response. I won’t get one.
Idiot, idiot, IDIOT!
Why do I even bother? What am I getting out of this miserable failure of a conversation.
She’s laughing. At me? Did I say something? Do I look nervous? Helpless?
I feel like an ant, using every fiber of my being to hold her boot from crashing down on me.
There’s that smirk again. What does she hide behind it?
What lurks beneath her mahogany irises?
Behind her tangerine curtains?
I can only hope to one day find out.
Until then, I have no choice but to admire from afar,
A pathetic observer of her Utopian beauty,
Until I can stop myself from melting in her presence.