They look into my own,
reflecting back an intense gaze
piercing into my mind.
I see an abyss
of dark and light
and azure blue,
so bright they sparkle and shimmer
like Christmas lights
illuminated in the snow.
Swirls of persistence,
passion and zeal
infect your stare,
hindered only by a minute tear
in the corner of your eye,
imitating colours of happiness,
though fixed in place by sorrow.
And then you blink
and turn away from me,
and I know it's just
It was nearing the end of the Christmas holidays, and soon college would return, bringing all of its work back, but also him. My CD case lay on the my bedside table; I had listened to it many times since I had worked out who it had been from. It was clever, the way he had asked me if I knew who it was, tried to work it out with me. He had led me off the correct scent and onto another, false one that he had set up.
The music on it was brilliant. As soon as I had skimmed through all the songs I knew exactly who had made it for me. Many of the artists on there I had mentioned on the day I had spoken to him, and the others were all recommendations from him. I was beyond pleased with my present; he had got me the most original, almost personal present there was. Everyone else had been bought accessories, books, games and sweets. I had been given something that had been homemade, something that had thought including within it.
I sat back, the CD still playing over. It had been on repeat for most of the day. I couldn’t get bored of the songs on there, because he had put all my favourites on there. And the ones I hadn’t heard before were brilliant in their own right. I was amazed that within only a day, he had managed to pick up my whole music taste and be able to construct a playlist out of it, without me really saying that much. Sure, I had told him what bands I liked and didn’t like, but he had remembered them and added to them. I was quite lost for words.
When I get back to school I must thank him, I thought. Maybe I can start other conversations from this, and get to know him better.
There was one more thing that puzzled me though. I had managed to work out who made it for me and what was on it, but there was still the tiny heart on the exclamation mark that was written on the case. Maybe it was just to make it look more interesting. Or maybe he jut wrote exclamation marks like that.
In my head, I knew secretly what I wanted the answer to be. I was hoping it was an almost subliminal, rather subtle way of trying to tell me something. That maybe, just maybe there were feelings there. Feelings that would make it mutual between us. I had weighed up the possibilities, and although this was the one I preferred, it was not the most likely in any way. I knew that I shouldn’t jump to conclusions about anything like that, without first gathering more evidence. But I couldn’t do that, because it was the Christmas holidays and he was off in France, or Spain, or Italy, or somewhere even more exotic, while I was stuck at home in England, aimlessly pondering over what his writing could mean.
When I got back to school, I was excited. I could finally have something to talk to him about that had a purpose. Something that would show I was impressed by him, and hopefully make him happy, as well as me. Now we had a starter to talk about, I felt overall a huge feeling of positivity about where we both might end up.
I came in late, but got to talk to him at break. He was with his friends, but they were otherwise engaged, and so I had the chance to talk to him alone.
“Hey, thanks for my CD.”
“CD...I didn’t get you a CD...” He laughed and looked shiftily around the room. “So, you liked it then?”
“Yeah, you’ve put all my favourites on it.”
“And the new stuff?”
“I liked it, yeah. You have a good taste in music.”
“I sure do.” His mock arrogance was sweet, and I found myself laughing along with him as if we were old friends. We carried on talking about I t for quite some time, until break was over and I had to go to my next lesson. As I left the room I felt incredibly happy again. He had talked to me, and confirmed that it was him that got me the CD after all.
A few weeks passed of that term, and I was starting to talk to him more and more. Not all the time, but here and there; before registration, at break, in the lunch queue, even walking out of college sometimes. I was starting to feel like we were getting closer, that I could trust him. And maybe that he could trust me. Whatever was happening, I was getting closer to my original goal.
We’d recently started a new class in college, a class so meaningless, and seen as a break. We had been put into a certain order in the seating plan for the teacher we had. I found myself on one side of the room, and him on the other. I had been hoping that we could choose where we sat, so it would have been possible to sit nearer him, but where I sat was directly opposite where he sat, so we could see each other quite clearly and communicate briefly with looks, or mouthing. We had got to a point in our ‘friendship’, if you could call it that, where if something funny happened it would be me he looked at, or if he had something amusing to say it would be me he told. And so I knew I was still in a good position for communication, despite the distance.
The class was dull. Even for a break, it was dull. A part of me would rather have been doing work of some kind instead. Or writing poetry. Since contact with him, my creativity had taken a turn for the better, and I was filled with inspiration. Love poetry was my forte, and I could write about him as often as I wished. He was my muse.
One week I was sitting there, thinking about what I could possibly write for my next piece, distracted by my thoughts and unbothered by the teacher at the front of the class. I had let my mind wander, and so any other possible distractions that passed me by remained unseen. I had words and phrases flowing through my head; unfinished, and out of order. I was staring out of the window, but not seeing what I was looking at.
A sudden gust of wind outside blew several dead leaves across the window, partially blocking my view for a couple of seconds. The change of outdoor scenery threw me, and I looked up, awoken out of my trance. I looked round the room, taking in any details I had missed whilst away from the class. And then I noticed him. Staring. No, not staring, but gazing. At me. He seemed transfixed, like he was studying every detail of my face and analysing it. He, too, was completely unaware of his surroundings. What was going on in the class were mere happenings that didn’t affect him. I looked back at him, studying him also. His auburn hair, his straight posture, his angled jaw...and then I got to his eyes. They were a clear shade of blue, deep and reflecting back the whole class. Easy to get lost in, and full of character. I stared back into his eyes, unable to withdraw my line of vision and pinpoint it to something else. I felt completely absorbed, as if nothing else mattered, as if he was the only real thing in my world. The way they stared at me, I could see right into them, deeper than usual, like I was seeing into him. The blueness of colour glistened in the light and his eyelashes, long and dark, framed them perfectly, like a frame to a particularly impressive painting. He blinked slowly, closing and opening his eyes as if it required effort, making the moment to witness his beautiful sparkling colour again even more anticipated. I was so lost. Lost with infatuation, respect, adoration and admiration. I felt compelled to reach out for him, to feel him, and touch him. But I kept my hands on the desk, propping my head up, and carried on with my current fixation, pausing only to look at the teacher to check she wasn’t looking at me impatiently, tapping her foot and raising her eyebrow. When I looked back at him again, his eyes widened, quickly shut and he shook his head, turning it to face the front. He looked back quickly and, seeing me staring back, turned round again, slightly obstructing his face with his hand.
Almost as if he’s embarrassed to be looking at me. I though. Like he wasn’t supposed to be. Like he’s hiding something. Maybe...Before I could think up the reason as to why he was acting like that, I found myself standing up with the rest of the class, grabbing my bag, and walking towards the door. The lesson had finished, obviously, but what lesson? It had gone. A fragment of the past already, taken in, but removed as quickly as it went in. I had spent almost the entire hour thinking, staring, and thinking again. He had hurried out of the room before I had even picked up my bag. He had literally ran, his previous actions continuing from before, confusing me. In my mind I hoped my suspicions were right. But I couldn’t tell. I wouldn’t let myself jump to conclusions about something I had such high hopes for. It would only end up in disappointment, and I had collected too much of that over the years. Success would make up for it though. It really would. He was one of the only things that, in my current mind, could make up for the lack of success I had achieved so far.