I don't know why it is or how it started, but for the longest time, I have wanted to be... special?
I'm not talking about special in the sense of having magical powers, (although the devil knows I want that) No. I'm talking about special in the sense of the ability to catch people's eye when I walk past.
I know that that probably makes no sense but the truth is this: (excuse how weird it sounds)
I want somebody to notice the way the freckles on my neck make a triangle. I want them to notice how I have a smile for acquaintances and a smile that lets you know I'm truly happy. I want people to notice the little things about me. I want people to think of me the way girls are thought of in books.
I want somebody to be in love with my hands, the way I bite my lip when I'm concentrating.
I want someone to notice the things above just like I notice them in others.
Take, for instance, the guy sitting across from me in the school library as I type this.
His name is Thomas. Most people call him Tom.
He's learning how to play a fantasy card game. Lame, but watching his hair fall into his eyes as he plays makes it worth it.
He has these clear, ice blue eyes that I swear I could fall into. Even from 4 or so metres away I can see them and dear god do I want their gaze to be turned upon me.
He has freckles dusted across his cheeks and his hands look strong and like they'd feel comforting wrapped around my own. He has a bruise or two that look kind of faded on his arms and I know that they're probably from one or both of his two younger brothers. The boys in his family interest me because they all have the same eyes.
His hair is a bit messy and he looks severely confused by the game. He's smirking at the same time as I'm smiling when one of the other boys does something funny.
The odd thing is, I'm not considering my heart caught by him.
He's a bit of a douche if I'm being entirely honest and he's too rough and his hands are fighting hands. He's made them that way. The only reason I'm focussing on him is because he's a quiet boy and I always think that the quiet ones might notice. Might notice the sort of things that I notice.
He probably doesn't.
No one does.
My mind is an incomprehensible mess of thoughts and confusion all wrapped up in the want to be wanted.
To be the person I see in books.
Oh, Tom just left.
