Lonely

Jared's a shadow. Unrequited love is cruel. I see you everyday. Everyone sees you everyday. You are the guy that everyone loves; the guy everyone wants to be like. The perfect one.

pg-13, angst, vulnerable,

I see you everyday. Everyone sees you everyday. You are the guy that everyone loves; the guy everyone wants to be like. The perfect one.

Everything about you is perfect: your eyes – I love how the brighten up when you’re talking about something you love; your hair – it looks so soft, perfect regardless of when or where; the way you walk – you have this almost swagger; even your hands are fascinating.

You sit two seats down from me in physics. I spend the lesson sneaking glances across at you, but can only see your hands and the back of your head thanks to Riley.

You are a prefect, top football player, part of the cabaret committee, lead of every play, artistic, always reading some fascinating novel, really smart and friendly. Also, you are the hottest guy in the school.

When someone gets asked who they think is hot, they more often than not, say, “Oh, well, Jensen of course, then…” and then their list. It’s generally accepted that you’re hot.

You can’t imagine how much I hate having a conventional crush. Everyone else is probably head over heels for you as well. You could have absolutely anyone. But there are rumours you’re already taken by a senior girl.

She’s probably perfect. She has to be, I guess, to fit in beside you.

I’m stupid to even daydream about you looking at me twice. I get the best feeling in the world if you say hello to me, or even just smile, it’s nice to know that I’m not completely invisible to you.

My friends all have their crushes: they giggle about them and make jokes and ogle and are generally obvious. If you looked at me, you would never guess what I feel for you. I would love to know what you think of me, the dorky freak who just slots randomly in the school picture – or maybe you don’t even think of me at all, I don’t know.

I’m scared, truly and honestly terrified. I don’t know where I belong. I don’t want to be boring, I like outdoorsy stuff like hiking and surfing and canoeing; I know you like those too, but you’ll never know that I do. Is it pathetic to hope that if you find out I’m not as lame as the world thinks I am you’ll hang out with me?

Problem is, I’m really scared of what you’d think. Do you ever catch me looking at you?

When you walk into a room, I keep talking, but I sense you around me. And often I pathetically try to make whatever I’m talking about seem cool, or like I’m planning something awesome for the weekend or something. But you probably don’t care at all.

I often wonder, if I was one of those pretty girls with a perfect body, would you look at me then? Would you notice me, give me a chance? I suppose it’s pointless thinking like that, isn’t it? I mean, how could I be one of them?

I’ve tried telling myself I only like you because it’s something that there is not even the slightest possibly of happening – the safe option, but that’s not true. I don’t want to like you. It hurts too much.

Sometimes our eyes meet, and I wonder whether you were looking at me or just passing over.

Do you ever see me – the real me, not this stupid façade I put on every day?

Do you even know who I am?

Probably not, I suppose.

My petty dreams are just that – dreams.

I’m just the shadow you pass in the corridors.