By: Arya Conanan
She’s sitting there at the table.
I admit, I have been waiting for it all day.
Her dark hair falls straight on her shoulders, and she wears her school uniform.
She looks perfect, like a yearbook picture.
We rarely see each other.
She shows a sweet smile, which I attempt to return.
I know I can’t smile.
It’s a little awkward, but she talks about school.
The thing I consider boring.
We are nothing alike.
We both know it.
We are opposites.
Yet, we still found a way to be friends.
Her clothes are neat and proper, and I pick a random t-shirt from my closet everyday.
Her hair is always kept neatly, my hair is cut hastily.
She excels in all her classes; I barely pass mine.
She is careful, and I? Not so much.
But she doesn’t care about that,
She knows who I am. And she still smiles at me.
Is that love?
I always try my best for her.
She is good.
Too good
I don’t deserve a friend like this.
But here I am.
And here she is.
She cares about me.
She chooses me.
I choose her.
I care about her.
Is that love?
Possibly.