To the guy I’ll never get

I find you unbelievable attractive. Not necessarily because of your looks, although I don’t think any sane person could look at your jawline and not be a little swoon by it, but because of the way you carry yourself. Effortlessly, almost arrogantly. Like you are so at peace with yourself in your own skin that no disruption could shake you, not even touch you. I love the way you walk, how you take up space wherever you go; like you’ve been there million times before, like you are the centre of everything without making a fuss over it.

You make me wonder, with your easygoing confidence and striking blue eyes: what goes on inside your head? Is it all just a well preserved surface, shielding all things inside you from the world to see? Or is the way you truly are, how you exist; outrageously without imperfections? Are you truly made of steel or is there something ugly inside, tender and raw? You are like a puzzle, a problem waiting to be solved, and I want to pick you apart.

And it drives me near madness to know our paths most certainly don’t collide. My heart yearns to be the reason you turn your head, the reason you forget what you were about to say in the middle of a conversation. At the same time I know I will never be the kind of person to catch your eye. Not the kind of person you’ll let under your cover, not the type you wouldn’t overshadow with your presence. Maybe it’s better I’ll never have to stand next to you and be outshone by your radiance, but I wished it didn’t hurt quite this much. Perhaps all brilliant things are only meant to be admired from afar.