I first saw you on a Thursday.
I saw you bike down the hill to the school.
I saw your short blonde hair blow in the wind.
I saw your denim jacket fluttering on your back.
I stared at you, as you biked past me, and my eyes followed you as you disappeared behind the school building.
I couldn't stop thinking about you that day.
When I saw you again in recess, I was hoping our eyes would meet.
I was hoping you'd notice me too.
But you didn't.
It was the next day. I saw you again.
You wore a grey and white striped sweater.
You were with your friends, I was with mine.
I couldn't stop glancing in your direction.
But you never glanced in mine.
Oh how I wished you would glance in mine.
When I walked home that day, I was sad.
I was sad I wouldn't see you again until Monday.
You weren't sad.
You didn't know who I was.
On Monday we had eye contact. We walked past each other in the hall.
We stared at each other. For 4 seconds. And then it was over.
And then you were gone.
I couldn't stop shaking.
I couldn't stop biting my knuckles; it's what I did when I was nervous.
You finally noticed me.
You finally looked at me.
The rest of the week I kept seeing you.
I kept catching glances of you, hoping our eyes would meet when I did.
But they didn't. They never did.
Maybe you didn't notice me after all.
