As Everything Falls Down Over Us
"Maybe if I stop calling myself a writer I'll become one."
She was the kind of girl guys fell in love with.
Sitting there, gazing at her, at the back of class.
But she wasn't the girl you'd brag to your friends.
She wasn't the kind of girl that'd catch someone's eye as she walked down the hallway amist the sea of people.
No.
You could only spot her if you were looking very close.
If you were trying very hard.
If you were quiet enough to hear the sound of her still breath.
Then you'd see.
I met her a long time ago.
In my dreams perhaps, or was it as I day dreamed about a better world.
But she was there, I found her alone.
Afraid even.
Notebook in hand.
Pushing up her glasses every now and again.
Clutching her shoulder bag closer with every person that passed.
She was un-noticeable.
Un-noticeable to everyone but me.
Back then I didn't understand what was so special about her
.
.
.
I do now.