Jacob Sartorius Imagines

Can I Be Her (sad)

Y/N's POV

I watched you two walk down the hall, hand-in-hand. You said something that made her laugh, her eyes lighting up as she glanced up at you from the side, a look of infatuation in her gorgeous eyes. The same look that I have when I look at you. Only you don't see it.

You were always shy and timid, I noticed it every time I watched you with your group of friends. You were usually quiet, while the rest of the boys cracked inappropriate jokes and laughed too loud. You didn't seem to fit with them, but then again, they were the only ones I ever saw you talking to.

Like you, I'm more on the quiet and shy side, making it difficult to talk to you. I've tried catching your attention, but I fully admit that my attempts were terrible. Smiling at you when we passed in the hall or being overly-helpful in class when you didn't understand something aren't exactly things that scream, "Hey, I'm madly in love with you."

And because of this, you never noticed. Had my attempts to get you to notice me been better, maybe things would've turned out differently, who knows. Maybe I would be the one walking down the hall with your hand around mine. Maybe I would be the one that was able to shower you with kisses and affection, and finally bring you out of your shell. But maybe, you wouldn't like me that way anyway. Maybe you'd reject me and the outcome would've been the same, and you still would've fallen in love with her.

Does she realize how lucky she is? Does she ever realize that other girls wish they were in her position? Are there any other girls that feel the same way about you as me? Maybe there are, and they're just too quiet to ever tell anyone, like me.

Every seventh period, before you met her, you were always early to class. You were one of the first ones in the room, like me. Sometimes we'd get in at the same time, and while walking in together, we'd exchange glances, and sometimes even have a small conversation. I was always too nervous to start them, so I would always hope and pray that you'd say something to me, giving me the chance to talk to you. But it was rare, seems how you were never talkative; maybe even more shy than me.

But now, you're always getting there right before the bell rings, almost late, but not quite. At first when I noticed this, it left me curious as to why. The sudden change must have been something that only I noticed, because no one else ever said anything.

Then, I realized that it was because you had started walking her to her class. You went the long way around to get to seventh period because you were taking her to her class. It was something small, but it made me unexplainably upset. I know, I'm being sensitive and selfish, but the small thing hit me hard. It was just an addition to the fact that you don't love me, you never have, and you probably never will. She got to you before i ever could. And I had the chance to, but I missed it.

Everyday, I watch you two interact. The sad, lonely look in your dark eyes faded with each day you were together. It's like I don't even recognize you anymore. Not that being brought out of your shell and finding happiness is ever a bad thing. It's selfish of me to wish that I was the one who could do that to you.

And now, I have to face the reality that you finally found yourself a girl. And that girl isn't me. No matter how many times I've asked, "Can I be her?" the answer will always be no. I never have been, and never will be her.

I put down the wooden pencil, my hand slightly shaking. There was a tear on the page, smudging the blue ink line on the paper and fading a word that was scrawled across the paper in my sloppiest hand writing. I tend to write messily when I'm going fast, or when the words and emotions are coming through my mind faster than my hand can keep up with.

I lift the sheet of paper from my wooden desk, my eyes scanning it one last time. Then, I fold it in a third, then in a third again, two folds in total, one pressed over the other. I slide open the bottom drawer and rummage through it, my fingertips finding what I was looking for. I open the white envelope, pushing the note inside of it before licking the strip at the top of the fold. I've always hated the taste of those.

I press the sticky strip to the envelope, sliding my fingers across it to ensure that it's sealed. I pick my pencil up again from the spot I'd shakily placed it earlier on the desk.

Furrowing my brows in concentration, I neatly wrote on the outside of the sealed envelope. The single word I wrote was in neat cursive; nowhere near the same messy writing that was scrawled across the letter inside. If I hadn't been the one to write it, I would've believed that the single word on the outside and the sentimental note were written by different people.

I placed down the pencil, looking at the word. Your name. It was your name I had written on the envelope. Closing my eyes and breathing deeply, I ripped the envelope in half. Then I put a torn piece on top of the other and ripped it again. I repeated this until the paper was in tiny shreds. I could feel tears threatening to spill from my eyes again, a lump burning in my throat.

I opened my eyes, looking at the mess in my hands. I tossed the remainder of the note into the trash bin under my desk. As much as I'd love to have the confidence to give you that note, Jacob, I can't. Because I know it won't change anything. I'll never be able to be like her.

I love writing depressing things lol. But I hate reading other people's depressing things, like I just read the boy in the striped pajamas and my heart hurts so much, i criedddd. oh and happy easter

Q: How tall are you?

A: I'm a shorty, only 5' 1" :)

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