He has always intrigued me.
Ever since the first encounter, I've spent hours with him, trying to figure him out.
I have been called a child prodigy by some. Music, math, arts, writing; you name it, I've attempted it.
And not just in school. Fencing, tennis, judo, soccer, dance, javelin, archery, track, theater; I've done them all and not only triumphed, but excelled, putting in 110%.
The point is, I'm rather smart.
I've always been pretty good at reading people just by watching how they talk, interact,dress, their body movements, facial expressions; the world is a giant library, each person a book for me to peruse at my leisure.
But not him.
He is the one person, the single novel that rests on a high self, too far up for me to grab, even with the assistance of chairs and ladders. heck, I can't even see the damn bindings of this mysterious piece of literature. He sits up there, taunting and teasing me,laughing at my foolish attempts to get my hands on him.
And I hate it.
It eats away at me. Slowly, it pokes fun at my brain, at my failures to decipher the unknown.
I don't hate him.
N-n-not that I like him or anything. I mean, that's utterly ridiculous. we're just friends. He's like a brother to me! I like him like a brot-
Oh who am I kidding.
I love him.
No scratch that. I'm IN love with him.
And it's driving me crazy.