❝So, Elena gave me this very beautiful rock.❞
❝I threw it at your head.❞
❝She loves me.❞
| In which Shawn Hunter is in love with Elena Martinez |
[Boy Meets World] [Season 1 - 7] [Shawn Hunter x OC]
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❝You and your words flooded my senses Your sentences left me defenseless You built me palaces out of paragraphs You built cathedrals❞
Burn | Hamilton
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"...You're too good for him, in fact, you're too good for every loser here!" Shawn said vehemently, not seeing the bored look on Elena's face as he continued his rant.
"Shawn-" Elena said sharply, turning to make sure Beau wasn't around.
"Except me, obviously," He paused and frowned, "Well, actually, you're way too good for me too, but, uh... Okay, this isn't going good for me. Um, what I'm trying to say is that I'm at least better than Bernie, way better," He grinned like a salesman trying to upsell his customer.
"Beau," She sighed as she rubbed her temple, "His name is Beau."
"Yeah, yeah, Bucket," He brushed her off, "Better than him too."
"We're talking about the same person," She huffed, annoyance clear as day on her face.
"Why are we talking about Bernard-"
"Beau!" Elena yelled as she glared at him.
"It doesn't matter," He rolled his eyes, "What matters is that I love you and we should-"
"You love me?" She repeated with a scoff, "Is that a fact or a weapon?"
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"Now, this next poem is quite special," Mr. Feeny told the class, "The manner in which the poet expresses emotions is truly eloquent. The piece is entitled 'An Unpublished Manuscript For J.D. Salinger'."
Cory leaned over to Shawn's desk. "Nappy time," He grinned, not noticing the tight, nervous smile Shawn gave him.
Elena's brows furrowed as she watched Shawn wring his hands out anxiously, his eyes trained on Mr. Feeny.
"It is possible to assassinate my heroes with the scope of my individualism," Mr. Feeny read, "However, by their own persistence to themselves, I believe that they have chosen me to pursue a self. What is literature but the illumination of that which I would write? Salinger speaks through me; to me; whispers, 'Where to, little boy?' My answer is the dogged pen to page which lights consistently the pathway home. It is on that road that I alone can trip my way back to myself.'"
Cory let out a huff. "Ah, come on," He scoffed, clearly unimpressed.
Mr. Feeny sighed, a headache already forming just from the sound of his voice. "Would you care to analyze this poem, Mr Matthews?"
Cory shrugged. "Yeah, I'll take a stab."
"Stab away," Mr. Feeny let out another tired sigh, knowing Cory was going to butcher this.
