Second Glance
Un
Justin Bieber, who hasn't heard of him?
Richest, most well-known teenager of the time. Or something like that anyway.
I saw him for the first time the other night.
And I don't mean I saw his poster or interview for the first time.
I saw him.
It was pretty fuckin' freezing, I can definatley remember that much. Even through my beanie and scarf and gloves I was beginning to lose the feeling in my fingers and nose.
I remember wondering if you got a frostbitten nose, would it turn black and fall off?
Pulling my beanie down further over my face, I was trudging through the park, my camera clasped in my hands. Usually it was dead quiet, the silence broken by the the soft noise of the trees and the lake.
I like it like that.
But that night I remember being annoyed. Something big was happening over at that TV studio, and I could hear distant screams and yells.
Some hot shot earning some more money without doing anything.
I sighed and lifted my camera to my face, inwardly cursing that I had forgotten my short-distance glasses, and started flicking through the photos I had just taken.
I remember being modestly pleased.
That's about when I got close enough to the sreeching crowds that I could pretty much smell their sweat.
Urgh.
I glanced up from the shining screen, curious as ever.
Curious little no-name.
That's what I get called, and with reason.
Shifting my hair out of my eyes, I let my camera drop and hang on it's cord.
First I saw the crowds, their mouth gaping red caverns, yelling and yelling.
Then I saw the paparazzis, cameras flashing, yelling and yelling.
Then I saw him.
Oh god, then I saw him.
He was watching me, wearing ridicuously tight clothes, a V-neck shirt that showed off the flawless skin of his neck and chest.
Our eyes connected, and I wanted more.
I wanted to know him, and, more than anything, I wanted him to know me.
I remember a little smile trying to force it's way onto my face, but I held it back.
He was swaying slightly on the spot, I remember.
Looking dazed and stunned, his brown eyes wide and glued onto mine.
What if I could never look away? It didn't seem all to unlikely, at that point in time.
One of his bodyguards grunted something in his ear, making him jump in surprise and look away from me.
I remember I took the chance to tear my own eyes away from him, shaking my head dispicabley at myself.
Silly, starstruck teenage girl.
He's Justin Bieber.
I'm curious little no-name.
It's a love story just waiting not to happen.
I remember regretfully walking away. Forcing myself not to look back.
I saw him for the first time that night.
I wish I never did.
'cause now I can't get him out of my head.
Richest, most well-known teenager of the time. Or something like that anyway.
I saw him for the first time the other night.
And I don't mean I saw his poster or interview for the first time.
I saw him.
It was pretty fuckin' freezing, I can definatley remember that much. Even through my beanie and scarf and gloves I was beginning to lose the feeling in my fingers and nose.
I remember wondering if you got a frostbitten nose, would it turn black and fall off?
Pulling my beanie down further over my face, I was trudging through the park, my camera clasped in my hands. Usually it was dead quiet, the silence broken by the the soft noise of the trees and the lake.
I like it like that.
But that night I remember being annoyed. Something big was happening over at that TV studio, and I could hear distant screams and yells.
Some hot shot earning some more money without doing anything.
I sighed and lifted my camera to my face, inwardly cursing that I had forgotten my short-distance glasses, and started flicking through the photos I had just taken.
I remember being modestly pleased.
That's about when I got close enough to the sreeching crowds that I could pretty much smell their sweat.
Urgh.
I glanced up from the shining screen, curious as ever.
Curious little no-name.
That's what I get called, and with reason.
Shifting my hair out of my eyes, I let my camera drop and hang on it's cord.
First I saw the crowds, their mouth gaping red caverns, yelling and yelling.
Then I saw the paparazzis, cameras flashing, yelling and yelling.
Then I saw him.
Oh god, then I saw him.
He was watching me, wearing ridicuously tight clothes, a V-neck shirt that showed off the flawless skin of his neck and chest.
Our eyes connected, and I wanted more.
I wanted to know him, and, more than anything, I wanted him to know me.
I remember a little smile trying to force it's way onto my face, but I held it back.
He was swaying slightly on the spot, I remember.
Looking dazed and stunned, his brown eyes wide and glued onto mine.
What if I could never look away? It didn't seem all to unlikely, at that point in time.
One of his bodyguards grunted something in his ear, making him jump in surprise and look away from me.
I remember I took the chance to tear my own eyes away from him, shaking my head dispicabley at myself.
Silly, starstruck teenage girl.
He's Justin Bieber.
I'm curious little no-name.
It's a love story just waiting not to happen.
I remember regretfully walking away. Forcing myself not to look back.
I saw him for the first time that night.
I wish I never did.
'cause now I can't get him out of my head.