and if cupid's got a gun, then he's shootin'
Golden
she stares from afar.
like she always does.
he has beautiful eyes, but she believes hers are better.
the mere sight of his face, an unknown feeling. it's not much, unrecognizable beyond the noise of her surroundings. he's not handsome, he's not nice, he's plain. and she doesn't like him.
there are no butterflies, those are just ridiculous.
she focuses on other things, like her missing pens, her unfinished essay due 3 days ago and she counts the minute till the bell rings.
she wants to get out, she wants to forget, erasing him, erasing his face, he's just a person. she sees him most days, but she doesn't know him. he doesn't know her.
she walks by past him. she talks when she is spoken to, and she stutters, so she looks away. she wonders how he feels, maybe he thinks she dislikes him. they're better off strangers.
she knows what she's doing isn't right, but it isn't wrong. it's not like it's ruining her.
she chooses the way she lives.
so she stares.
he'll never know.
she doesn't mind.
because she isn't hurt, not thrown into a world of want, she's content with the way it is.
carefully, she mustn't go too far.
and so she lives, cold and strong. masking her true emotions.
she'll forget him one day, and he'll forget her.