text: Sat in class, bored as all hell. The incessant drone of anonymous conversations all around me. Sat in class, alone. My eyes heavy, the weight of last night’s lack of sleep hanging off my eyelids. Then, like a superpower, they gain the strength to look up. Look up at you. You walk in, blissfully nonchalant and radiating an inexplainable positivity as always. The slight crookedness in your smile as you see your friends makes my heart thump a little harder than what’s deemed healthy. You turn your back to me to take your seat, your hair flows effortlessly over your shoulder, a picturesque maroon. Glistening slightly in the bright yellow glare of the shitty public-school lighting. I stare pathetically, imagining it’s glossy perfection draping between my fingers as I brush it behind your ear. Giving me a better look into those big, beautiful eyes. I’d come over, sit with you until the teacher arrives. Getting to know you with polite small talk, but my goal would be to make you laugh. To be the one who blesses the room with that contagious symphony. Your laugh would light up my life a thousand times over if I were the one to cause it. I’d impress you with my knowledge in class discussion, being equally as impressed by your smarts and wit, but I know you’d be too shy to raise your hand and speak in front of everyone. We’d talk effortlessly, I’d be nervous, but your talk would comfort me dearly. I’d get your socials, and we’d talk for hours for the proceeding weeks. Eventually mustering up the courage to ask you on a date. You’d be shocked, none of the boys our age have the same old-fashioned ideals of courtship and you’d accept my offer. We’d laugh together for hours, our humour aligning like an eclipse. So fantastically rare but effortlessly beautiful to behold. You’d truly be the sun to my moon: my tired, grey life. We’d leave school and stay together, having the common interest of that class and pursuing it in higher education. We’d have bouts, disputes, and arguments as we grow and flourish together over the course of the years. Inevitably, after everything, you’d end up back in my arms, cuddling close, your familiar coconut-aroma in my face as you nuzzled my chest. Your weight against me the most comforting thing in the world. I’d hold you tight, just like that again, when you’d say *‘yes’* to my proposal. I’d feel no stronger sense of satisfaction than bearing a gorgeous diamond ring on your pretty little hand. We’d be committed, forever. My girl. We’d continue growing, getting older. I’d watch in absolute awe at you becoming a mature, confident woman; with the utmost honour of calling you my wife. I’d have the responsibility of holding you in the greatest of pain as your family leaves slowly, departing from us. We’d grow our family in place of them. Our children would be beautiful: a boy and a girl. We’d watch them grow as we had each other. Holding your hand as we support them in falling in and out of love with the world as we once had. After it all, my greatest pleasure would be looking deep into those big, beautiful eyes on your last day. Holding your hand tight, our hands withered and trembling, but yours as warm as ever. You’d smile, letting me see the greatest beauty in the world one last time. Making my heart flutter, watching closely as you leave us. Content with the loving, full life you’ve lived that I was honoured to be a part of. Even after that, the most painful thing is having to turning my head away from you in that class, as he sits down and makes you laugh, instead of me.