Waiting

There is a girl. She sits alone in her room, watching as life passes her by, hoping it doesn’t come knocking on her door. She spends her days painting scenes that shine more vibrantly than any piece of her life ever has, and reading books about people she was terrified of following in the footsteps of. Her father was afraid she was locking herself up too much, that it was unhealthy. She hadn’t brought a friend home in years and she hardly ever spoke. Her mother always gave a wave of her hand and dismissed the facts. She believed her daughter had simply not bloomed yet. Truth be told however, her mother was worried too, she was just too brave to show it. But up in her room, the girl knew the truth. It wasn’t that she hadn’t “bloomed” as she had bloomed quite a long time ago. The girl was so afraid of messing up in front of someone. A boy. Albeit, one she would never have, but still. He expected a perfect girl, not the messy one she was on the inside. He was expecting clear skies and a bright sun, not the hurricane brewing in her head. All she wanted was to start a conversation with him and never stop talking, but she was positive she would somehow end up saying the wrong thing. So she reverted to saying nothing at all. She just sat in her room, painting and reading, waiting for life to leave.

There is a boy. He is entirely different from the girl except for one thing: he is hopelessly, and devastatingly, and catastrophically in love with her. Everyday he tries to catch her eye and everyday he fails due to her keeping her head down and eyes forward.She thinks she has to be perfect for everyone. perfect grades, practiced smile, flawless laugh. What she doesn’t see is that she never has to be perfect for him. He wants to brave the raging storm in her mind. but she never looks his way, and he never follows. he just watches, and loves, from afar, waiting for life to pick her up.

  • e.o.
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