Possibility and Invisibility

She’s beautiful, anyone with a pair of fully functioning eyes could tell you that, but they couldn’t tell how amazing she is. The term ‘just a pretty face’ is used far too often to describe her, if only she would listen to me and I would tell her otherwise. It’s unfair that I’m the only one that sees the pretty girl underneath the layer of foundation.

A devil with a model smile, that’s how they see her. A dirty, cheap look and an even dirtier mouth, oh how I am dragged into the bad girl thing she has going on. Anyway, the people who judge her only see her at night when she goes out to play with the night time light, I see her in the beauty of day-time. Her make-up isn’t as harsh and her elegance is at one point radiated by the glow of the sun at its peak.

If there ever was a bigger contrast than between light and dark; it would be me and her. Many have told me to quit my dreams of ever being the one she calls on but it’s hard, we’ve all been in this sort of situation. We aren’t the modern-day Romeo and Juliet, that scenario would require her to even know my name. Which I believe sadly she does not, my friends would probably forget if I didn’t remind them.

I tell a lie, she does know my name. Once, when I was sixteen she picked up my Sushi bar nametag, the moment was ruined however by a guy shouting over to her that she had a nice ass. I hate guys like that, they treat her like some sort of doll and not as a human being, which she most definitely deserves. Men today have no manners, even though I am one…

Gareth, my so-called best-friend thinks she looks like a whore; it took all my strength to not curse at him, using every crude word I had ever known at that point. My parents aren’t so keen either; I don’t even know why I told them I fancied someone in the first place. Well yes I do, my mother is a nosey know it all while my father is big on Christianity. The only person that believes me is my inner voice which still tells me I won’t be a virgin for the rest of my life.

It’s always been that way, me as the weird kid who draws comics and she being the stereotypical cheerleader type. Seriously though, people think I’m so un-cool that it’s a disease. She’s practically a rainbow and I’m nearing invisible, sometimes I don’t know if living in confusion is worth it. I wouldn’t go as far as to say I was at the point of killing myself.

But I’ve gotten older and she has too, but neither of us have changed. At twenty-six and me at twenty-four, she still spends her evenings and nights partying like she’s seventeen. I, on the other hand am struggling to stay awake past nine-thirty as my current dead end job requires me to wake up at the crapest hour ever invented. Even my secret love still remains, a crush is a crush but mine’s here to stay.

It’s not that I haven’t had a girlfriend since laying eyes on her, I have had one. Lindsey was nice she couldn’t compare to her, not even close. She on the other hand has had her fair share of boyfriends, and I watch them pretend to lover her and then pushing her away just as she thinks they’ll be the one. They’ll never be the one, because that one was always supposed to be me.

They say I can’t be her one if she doesn’t even know who I am, my earlier point proved them otherwise but still that isn’t enough. People say that I don’t properly know her but I do, I know her better than any other jerk that stumbles out of her flat. If there ever wasn’t a glimmer of possibility I would have given up, but there has been. Chew on the disbelievers.

Now there are rumours. Bad ones. News has spread that she’s packing her bags and leaving. Leaving her home, family, memories and most of all me behind. She can’t do that, she can’t barge out of my life after so long, I didn’t keep dreaming, for her to just leave. Every time someone spoke about her my heart clenched just a little tighter than the last, the woman’s bad for my health. Seriously.

She’s skipping town, skipping away with a large fragment of my heart and soul. I’d stop her if she cared to notice me, not that my opinion count or means anything to her. I would stutter words inchoately as she walks past, not giving me a second glance, her mind not even faltering at the sight of me. Without another thought, she would be on the train and off to prey on all the other men that would have the honour of lying beside her.

I don’t want her to go. End of. I don’t ever want to lose her. But I guess you can’t lose something you never really had before. I had all the time in the world to love her, but no. I hid away, feeling overshadowed my all the others, I’m better off in someone else’s shadow anyway. Poor me feeling sorry for myself, when she’s going to eat someone else’s heart and destroy them from the inside. Maybe that pathetic loser will do better than me, give her everything she ever wanted, but they can’t giver her me. Her one and only.