Ribbons

0.1

You're in my English.

You sit in the back, slumped in your chair. I'm one desk in front of you.

Your unruly dark curly hair is always tangled, never brushed, never styled. No makeup is ever painted on your face.

But you still manage to be fucking beautiful.

I hate writing, I hate grammar, I hate everything about this class.

Except you.

And that's why it's my favorite subject. That's why Iook forward to attending this class every god damn day.

Because you are going there, sitting in the back, chewing on the eraser of your pencil ever so slightly.

And I get to see you with your dark purple nail polish, and those ribbons tied around your wrists. I always ponder on why you wear all those ribbons, all day every day.

At first I though it was because you used them for your hair.

But you never put your hair up. Ever.

What are you doing to me? Why can't I get you out of my damn mind.

I don't even remember your name.

The teacher never calls on you, you never raise your hand.

But I bet on my life that it is perfect, and that it suits you.

So for now you're the girl with ribbons .