Preposterous (1)

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She was probably one of those girls---backpack, eyeglass, books, Coleman, Sisters' favorite. She was probably the quiet one, the teachers' greatest insecurity. She was probably the most intelligent in her high school class, and probably one of the most liked. She was probably the seemingly innocent, model student. She was probably the type I dislike most.

But some time ago, I realized she was also capable of doing things which do not fall under the "perfectly straight" category. She took something important away from me. She stole something I thought I hid in an unknown, secret place. She stole my heart.

I did not know how she found it, but she did. I watched helplessly as she was doing the deed.

And worse, I loved every second of it. I loved everything about it. The thrill. The goosebumps. The proverbial fireworks. The unwritten songs. The entire phantasma which is her. Her smile which fill my dreams. Her eyes. Her lips. Her musical laugh. Her voice. Her entire being.

I want to love her. I want to see her and give her a tight embrace. I want to watch clouds with her. I want to protect her from harm. I want to hold her hand. I want to sing her new songs. I want to make her happy.

What I say may seem preposterous, but what I say is true.

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