I'm that guy who's waiting for that girl to notice him.
She's not the hottest girl in class. That's cliche.
And I'm not some loser with angry pimples on my face.
We're two ordinary people who have never met.
I need this to change.
In my mind I've rehearsed a thousand times,
What I'm going to say. How I'm going to say it.
When I finally meet her,
That day will come.
Should I look into her eyes or let my gaze dance around her face?
I don't want to scare her away.
But I want her to know.
That, this thing growing inside me.
This fuzzy feeling whenever I see her.
Is beautiful. And so is she.
It's weird, I'll admit it,
That though I don't know her,
I know her.
I can't explain it.
(Or rather, I muster the courage to speak to her. You see, she takes the same train to work as I do every weekday.)
She smiles. I smile back.
She laughs, touches my hand.
And in that moment, we existed.