I have had a significant crush on a young man since eight grade. I'm now graduated and I still think of him (and I still think it's pathetic that I do). You see, I've never really spoken to this guy except on a few very special occasions, like saying sorry when I accidentally grabbed his ankle (he sat behind me and would rest his legs around my chair's legs. I blindly snatched it when reaching for my bag...). I fell in love with this giant and his silence. Everything about him, in my eyes, was golden. His hair, his Hercules-like structure, even his deep voice and chocolate eyes. I was addicted to staring at him. I know I wasn't the most popular girl in my class, but there were hints of little tiny signs that this football pla
yer might have a heart under all that muscle. It was torture watching him alone all those years, and looking at myself in the mirror, thinking what he could possibly see in me. I wrote poetry about him, one of them becoming my favorites out of my portfolio. It was sweet at first, but got a little sexual, I'm afraid, but I still love it. There are just times when words string together in my head to make one powerful message that I can't top after it's on paper. This was one of those times, and I felt I did it for him. He'll never know, though.