It's just my journal.

Why Is It You?

Who are you exactly? It is dawning on me that while I have an infatuation with you, I don't really know who you are yet. I've known you for a week. A week, and I have managed to be captivated by your presence. Why do you have a such a power over me? How did this come to be? It has been merely a week and both of us have gotten attached. We don't even speak the same language.

I suppose it could be the little gestures you make, maybe it's in the way you walk, the way you say every word of a language you don't even know, perfectly. I'm afraid that I've gotten attached to not you, but the idea of you. I'm afraid that when we finally have the time to talk to each other, and find out that we were not who we thought we were, that everything will fade. That you will fade.

As I write this, I find that I already understand that you are not perfect. You are beautifully imperfect. It took you almost half a week to talk to anyone because you were scared, and you had every right to be. You seem so quiet, but when you become someone's friend, you suddenly become loud. You can talk someone's ear off. After sitting next to me for two hours, you decided that someone as seemingly unlikeable as me, was someone you wanted to get to know.

When you approached me for the first time, I noticed that you were much more calm than I was. There wasn't a hint of fear in your eyes, you were completely calm. Your dark brown eyes were smiling in place of your lips as you turned your head to say the first word as we walked to the dining hall. Our conversation wasn't anything out of the ordinary, it could have been counted as words to fill in a blank space floating in the air.

The next day came and we had another lecture, we didn't have enough space to fit our little group of twelve into one row, so I went to sit a row above. You were about to sit down, but took a moment to look around when you didn't see me. When your eyes met mine, you quietly grabbed your bag and sat down next to me. You didn't even bother to answer anyone else, as they were all asking why you were moving, you just gave me a small smile before settling yourself into your seat.

Every day after that, you made sure you sat next to me. Why? You always made sure you were next to me. I started noticing that your hands would just wander to my hair, you eyes following as you twirled the unruly curls around your fingers, as if trying to memorize the way my hair looked and felt. Then your eyes would wander down to the card that hung from my the lanyard with my name on it, your hands slipping from my hair and grabbing the card. You stared at the card intently as you slowly stuttered out each syllable to my name, you'd then look up at me to make sure you'd said it correctly, and I would just nod.

What about when I poked your cheek? Or blew on the back of your neck just to annoy you? Unlike me, who would've squirmed at such a feeling, you'd slowly turn your head while holding an intense look in your eyes before doing it back.

Every once in awhile, your hand would just reach for mine. I didn't really notice until you grabbed my hand while we were in a crowd. I figured it was so you wouldn't get lost, but you kept holding it, even after we'd sat down for the lecture. When I let go, you pouted, as if missing the warmth. On the way back, you grabbed my hand yet again. You would start over-exaggerating the movement of our arms, practically sticking our hands up in the air, as if to flaunt the fact that we were holding hands. Don't stop doing that sort of thing, it's cute.

You liked the duck plushie I got, didn't you? You thought there wasn't anything cuter. You took it from my arms and gave it the biggest hug. You didn't let go of it until we got back to our dorms. I know you think I didn't hear you whispering 'duck' with each step, but surprise surprise!

I'm friends with your roommate, she thought you were the cutest thing ever. I can't disagree with her. She's right. It surprised me when you called me cute. No one has ever called me that before. It also surprised me when I asked if you wanted to sit in the front or the back of the lecture room and you, confident as ever, answered with,

"I want to sit next to you."

I'm not going to forget the way you cried at the end of the week. I'm not going to forget that you kept staring at me and would then whisper how you'd miss me, and when I asked what you'd said because I hadn't processed your words, how your eyes would widen and you'd just shake your head, as if you didn't want me to hear. What were you so afraid of?

When you started to cry, it hurt. You looked so heartbroken when you looked at me and told me that you weren't crying. I hugged you and told you not to cry even though I'd began to cry myself. I remember how you let out a sob followed by a shallow breath into my neck before repeating,

"No cry."

Every time you saw me about to cry after that you just repeated those two words before bursting into tears yourself. You did that the night before we left. You then looked at me and made sure you would see at least once before we left. I remember how you let out a deep sigh and nodded before letting a calm look take over your beautiful features.

That morning, I figure we were both too tired to cry. I'd gone to get my bag, as my ride had arrived and you saw me. I told you that I was leaving. Your face crinkled into an expression I couldn't quite read, but one that I can still picture in my mind. You spit out two words with a certain sadness that made me want to hug you and tell you that I didn't.

"Right now?" I swear that as soon as you said that, the rest of the world seemed to disappear and it was just you and I. I forced out a "yes" of some sorts, that, while meant to sound confident, came out in more of a whisper.

With that, you hugged me and didn't let go for a few minutes, your usually calm breaths, slowly becoming more ragged with each passing second. You pulled away from the embrace and stared. I'd like to think that you were studying me for one last time, trying to remember every little detail about me. That's what I'd done. You embraced me for just a few seconds before backing away and giving a bittersweet smile that seems to have me drinking a different type of coffee for some reason now, and letting me walk away.

When I turned back around to yell a final farewell, only then did everyone else notice I was leaving and start yelling goodbye and dashing to hug me before I left. How odd.