I N A C E S S I B L E

Her.

She was pretty. 

Not like in the magazines. Not like the mannequins. Not like actresses. 

No. Not at all. 

She was pretty... With her washed-out black hair that fell in messy. curly cascades on her shoulders. With her blue eyes that looked through your soul when you looked at them. With her lips that said the worse obscenity but that could hold so much beautiful words and kisses.. 

And here I am, like a stupid guy, to look at her from a distance. Because after all, a girl like her will never get interested in the type of guy I am. 

Girls like her are not into guys that chain up girls like they change shirts. If only she knew that if I chain them up, it's because I love her since forever. 

Since kindergarten that I observe, that I analyse her. She never got it easy, you know?She got bullied, tears ran down her beautiful face. Why I never defended her? Because I had a reputation. And at that age.. It's so damn important.

 But in my dreams of her she's there, laying in my arms, telling me how much her life has sense now. How much she thanks me for helping her not to drown in her own head. 

But I see her, in the school's yard, her cigarette in between her fingers, her look in the hazy, her lips breathing out the cancerigen. And damn I love her. Damn I want her to be mine. Damn I love her.