TO THE WONDERFUL BOY

"What's your name?" were the first words that fell off my lips. 

I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to breathe, yet around us, the world continued as it is. Students chattered to their classes, and the roar of the jeepney's engine echoed with the occasional honk. Classes carried on, and the second hand of the clock took its time to make another complete circle. I looked at the beautiful pair of eyes looking back at me, and my world stopped. My world froze. 

They were the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen.

But they weren't yours. 

"My name's Sam." He smiled, withdrawing his grip on my wrist. He fished a piece of paper from his jeans pocket and unfolded it, my own words bleeding black on parchment. I shuddered, unable to stop staring at him and fearing for myself because I knew that I was drowning. I was drowning in his eyes and looking at the windows of his soul. I was knowing him, and I felt guilty about it even though I had no right to because he was not you. He was not you, and that letter was not for him. 

I snatched the paper from his hand and tore it, despair coiling itself around my fragile heart till it exploded into jagged shards of glass.   I was not ready. I was not ready for the other end of the story. I was not ready for false hope, for fractured dreams and for another boy to walk in and read my words. 

His eyes widened, and I did my best to avert my gaze away from them. But I saw it. I saw how it hurt him. I saw how he wanted to become my friend. I saw how his heart broke and how it registered one word: "NO." 

He took a step back as if I pushed him away. I did push him away. He hasn't told me anything but his name, yet I refused to know more about him. I already placed a wall between us because he wasn't my wonderful boy, because he wasn't what I was waiting for, because he wasn't part of the story I wanted both of us to be. I shunned him and pushed him away simply because he wasn't you, and there was no one else like you. 

And right now I'm waiting for you. 

I'm waiting for you on a Friday, the same book in hand, the same song going on repeat. I'm waiting for you where I think I first saw you, in hopes that maybe things will turn out better the second time around. 

But it didn't. 

So I close my book and bring my headphones down to my neck. I stand up, take one last sweep of the busy-bodied hall. I sigh. I swing my backpack over my shoulders and take a quick look at the time. With that, I make my way to my next class.