Stuck on the Puzzle ; a. irwin [coming soon]

ENTRY 1

August 14, 1992

I'm writing to you because I don't want this to be a diary. I want this to be a book. My own book. With my own stories, and now I'm showing you through text because I always meant to tell you everything in person but I never got around to doing it.

On second thought, I'm not writing to you at all. Instead, I'll just tell you this story which I've wanted to tell you for a long time now. It's an interesting story, but I'll be changing the names of the people involved. I don't know to be sued. But you're smart, and I  know you'll know who's who once you read this.

Okay, so, this is it, for now. I think. I guess. I don't know, I've never written a book before without it being assigned as homework or something. And by book, I mean essays or short stories. I don't know how this will go.

Anyway.

There is someone that I am infatuated with. Believe me, if you knew her, you'd be infatuated too. I'm not completely smitten with her because of her looks, if that's what you think, although she is absolutely beautiful.

I sat next to her in my English class last year, and I always found myself looking at her writing with such focus and motivation. I was dumbfounded by how she managed to look alluring doing what she loved best even in the most unattractive situations. Even with purple bags under her eyes and her raven hair tied together with chopsticks with stray ends sticking out, she was an angel.

She could do anything if she put her mind to it. I had no doubt in my mind by senior year, she'd be hopping on a plane to the other side of the country to go to an Ivy League school. She's perfection encapsulated in a human body, here to admire but not to touch. 

She is all anyone could ever talk about. Her beauty, her intelligence, her kindness, her everything. 

How such an amazing human came to walk the earth was a mystery, but we are all glad she's here. Those who aren't glad are jealous.

No one can stop the entire swim team from ogling at her when she jumps into the school's pool. She steals the focus of anyone with a penis in that swim room, but no one dared to disturb her. They studied her from afar. Boys talked about her body, making disgusting comments about what they'd do to her if they ever got the chance to be along with her, and girls felt outshone by the mesmerizing beauty of the girl in the room. 

Violet. That's who she is. Like the flower, she's gorgeous. Her dark hair makes her skin look snow white. Like porcelain, like expensive china, delicate, smooth, and fragile. Like she was deserving of carrying a sign with her that says "Please do not touch," or "You break, you pay."

There is something about her that captured everyone's attention. It's a mystery impossible to solve, but her alluring disposition makes you keep wondering and leaving unable of submerging into the unknown. Everyone is undeserving of being loved by her and everyone's love is not enough for someone as unique as her.

When someone as captivating as Violet is around you, it's impossible to miss every small detail about her--her cobalt blue eyes, always electrified, her untainted silky skin, clear as the morning sky and dewy as the Amazon Rainforest. If you paid close attention, you'd notice her idiosyncrasies--they way she fidgets, how she taps her nails against flat surfaces, how she runs her fingers through her hair, how she leans her head against her fists when she props her elbow onto her desk. Every little quirk traps her deeper and deeper into the mystery of her.

Over the summer, I went to the movies just to see her. She took a job at the local theater, and somehow, every guy had learned the days she worked and showed up just to see her. While ordering snacks, the line for her register was always the longest. Everyone wanted even just a minute, 30 seconds, to speak to her. 

Our conversations went a little something like this:

"Popcorn?"

"Yes."

"Large, medium or small?"

"Small."

"Soda?"

"Yes, a small coke, please."

"Is that all?"

"And lifesavers, please."

"Sure."

For eight weekends, our conversations remained the same. I realized it was silly for me to go after a girl who has so many guys chasing after her, so I stopped going to the theater. I didn't see her since the end of summer. 

School is starting up tomorrow and I want it to be over already,

Sincerely, Ashton