Mitchel.

Mitchel. Six years my senior. Dark brown, shoulder length, silky, flowing hair, with a brilliant bang combed perfectly to the left, just above smooth eyebrows. Bright, white smile of incandescent pearls gleaming behind warm, inviting lips. Deep ebony eyes, specially crafted to entice me. Soft, sweet voice, literally music to my ears, lulling me to sleep with his soothing song. Every evening, I closed my eyes, to hear his breaths, and feel his warm embrace. My heart swelled with emotions I had never felt before in my life. How could he feel so close but be so far away? Why couldn’t I bring myself to forget him when I knew deep inside that we would never be? I longingly gazed at him running his ivory fingers through his lustrous locks whenever I got the chance. My heart beat faster. My heart beat for him. I wanted him. I needed him. A boy who didn’t even know that I existed. I collapsed on the couch and cried. Night after night, I stared into heaven, wishing upon the brightest star for a golden opportunity. Praying that someday we would touch, hold hands, or lock lips, though I knew that we would never be. Maybe for my own good, so that I could find Mr. Right. Was there really such thing? Back then, I thought there was. His name was Mitchel. I still cannot fathom how my heart pined intensely after this enigma. Was the mystery enthralling? His looks charming? He often hid behind the curtain, but his tender heart seemed to glow through. I gathered glimpses of his unique personality, but voices in the back of my mind warned me that he was trouble. He couldn’t have been as perfect as I portrayed him. He was too good to be true. I held my breath, lending my ear, overhearing gossip, hoping nothing bad would be said of him, but I just knew that there would be. There wasn’t. Maybe there was, but I just didn’t hear it. Maybe I didn’t want to hear it. He was just too good and I wanted him to stay that way. He was an image I couldn’t reach. That perfect apple at the top of the tree. My heart pounded, gulping, gaping, drooling, staring in awe at the tantalizing perfection. My conscience nagged at me, warning for me not to taste, in worries it would be bitter. I wanted to keep him right up there, to dance through my dreams in bed at night. To kiss me on cloud nine. I imagined he was my husband. My perfect soul mate. I whispered out to him as I tossed and turned in bed, hoping my parents in the other room wouldn’t hear, or my brother in the room below me. Finally. I heard he would be at a party. I decided that I would face my fears. I wanted to go. I needed to go. I at least needed to be in the same crowd with him, as speakers blast the same heavy base sound waves through both our ears. We’d breathe the same air, maybe I’d accidentally brush past him through the thick throng. I’d never wash my shirt again. But, my dreams were crushed. My heart stopped. I almost died when my mom said no. I begged and begged to no avail. I thought of sneaking out, but I was too good of a child. I cried in bed as I pictured him dancing, lights flashing upon his face, hugging up to someone else. I shuddered at the nightmare. Soon after, he moved away. I knew for sure then that we would never be. I still stalk him on social media to this day. Some things he says and does are still beautiful, but he is no longer perfect. I still have feelings for him, but I must move on.

Would he have been different if he ever met me?

Would I have been different if I’d ever met him?

I’ll never know. We were never meant to be.