From Afar

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I watch from afar, the occasional student distorting my view of the blonde-headed boy. Always from afar, never close up. A view through an old camera. A warped image. I memorize the side of his head, the way it tilts when he’s deep in thought; the movements of his arm as he writes. His blue electric eyes dart to the billboard, then to his paper. I watch in longing and adoration as he purses his lips and scribbles something out. I rip my eyes from his direction and try to concentrate on the notebook in front of me. The words twist and curve and blur under my unfocused gaze. I swallow a lump in my throat. stop it, I tell myself. But I can’t stop. I glance up at the pale boy sitting across the classroom. I’m going to pay for this one. I know it. this one glance to the person that makes me the happiest is going to cause anguish when I am alone in my cold and lonely room. But for now, I could watch his flitting smile, his hand running through his platinum-blonde hair, imagine my own hands doing the same... I stop myself there. my eyes stray to the reason I am so far away, the reason I only love him from afar—to the seat next to him, to her wavy brown locks and her luscious curves... to his girlfriend.