It's Just Me.

The stars are shining, so beautiful and haunting, the wind humming a bone-chilling melody that tingles to the very core. The crescent moon sending its faux light upon the earth, illuminating the otherwise dark atmosphere. Painted on the dark green grass is a coat of dew, glistening like a crystal tear.

The blanket under us is warm and cozy. New Years Eve has never been any better. From here, we can see where the fireworks should begin, exactly at midnight where December 31st disappears and January 1st pushes its way onto humanity's calendar. Our fingers lace together, causing me to smile. I cannot stop smiling when I'm around you. Idle chatter is lost among us—part of me thinks you probably don't know what that is. Even the most insignificant detail is suddenly of utmost importance because you care about what I say just that much. It's refreshing and sweet, especially since you know I rarely come across the opportunity to speak about every little thing on my mind.

You listen to me, you understand me, and you care about me. Happiness is the understatement of the century. I've never felt so elated to be in the presence of someone so amazing before. You're my saving grace, that last breath of fresh air I receive every day. You make me feel amazing, like what I say actually means something and it's not just words that pry open my lips and spout out of them like a water fountain without reason. I've never felt more beautiful then I do now, lying beside you on my fuzzy blanket waiting for January 1st and fireworks to appear.

"You're amazing, you know that?" you tell me, and I turn over on my side to look at you, invisible question marks looming over my head. My eyebrows lift themselves in bemusement.

"How?"

You sigh a little, interlacing our fingers. I'd say that I don't think you realize how much faster my heart is pumping, how shivers run up my spine, or that my breath hitched in my throat, but you can probably hear my heartbeat even though you're no vampire, or that my breathing has gone to an irregular pattern even though you're not even that close to me in comparison to how close you normally are.

"You're opinionated, but you don't judge. You'd sacrifice your happiness for someone else in a heartbeat and you'd risk your life to save someone you don't even know. You forgive easily, even if it's difficult to gain your trust. Even though you have flaws, you embrace them, not dwell on them. You're not like other girls."

Your comment is heartwarming and emits a soft laugh to bubble up to the surface. "I hadn't realized anyone thought so highly of me." And suddenly, the jokes we'd shared were gone, any laughing or smiling wasn't there, only seriousness remained. I didn't think anyone could be so serious when the topic of interest was me.

"You don't give yourself enough credit."

"I didn't think I deserved any," I admit sheepishly.

"Which brings me to my original point; you don't give yourself enough credit."

"What about you? You're always showering me with compliments I don't even deserve. If anything, you're pretty much a saint to me."

You laugh a little, giving my hand a little squeeze and sending my heart into flying mode. I don't think you realize that up there, right in the sky with the beautiful balls of gas we call stars, my heart is soring like a bird in the spring during the sunset. "I'm not as good as you make me out to be. I'm no saint."

"You're about as close to perfect as someone could get."

"I guess you'd be the only one to actually take that title away from me then."

I blush, I blush, and I continue to blush harder. I never thought I could blush so much at one time. "You're flattering me."

"You deserve it."

I was about to reply, but all I hear is "5...4...3..." and we simultaneously look over to each other, grinning softly at the count down. We mouth to each other "Happy New Year" while they get to number 2. You get closer to me, I do the same. I can feel your breath mingling with mine, your soft lips begging me to place my own over them. Number 1 is called, and I guide my lips the rest of the way. However, as soon as the cheering started, right when my lips were supposed to meet yours at the distant chiming of the large grandfather clock in the center of the city, you vanish.

I look at the spot, startled, before I realize what was going on. It's just me. You had been nothing more than a manifestation, a vision I had materialized from my dreams. You've been on my mind this whole time, and yet, you're not here. I got my hopes up over a stupid daydream.

I abruptly begin to realize that this is not real, you are not real, I am actually at home watching the ceremony in New York on TV, all alone. The red digital numbers on the clock flash 11:00—I'm a time zone behind New York, so I have one more hour. While others are celebrating, I'm sitting on my couch, almost planting a kiss on the cushions believing it was you.

To you, I do not exist. You barely know who I am. You don't think about me. These feelings I have are unrequited. You could never feel the same way about me as I do for you. These deep feelings, these intimate connections are things I could never be good at. That's why I avoid you, that's why I only let you invade my thoughts and nothing else, and that's why I dream of you constantly. Only this time, it was so vivid that I had somehow managed to convince myself of its existence. But I was wrong; you are not here.

It's just me.