I stare, and wonder; who are you really?
I had long thought I was obsessed and in love with you, thought I found the missing piece to my fractured stained-glass heart.
Yet, as I look closer, I find myself disgusted by your existence.
Why do I seem to despise every part of you?
Stop looking at me with those eyes, I shout in my mind. Clawing at the obsidian walls in agony, in anger, in pure rage.
...
Over the summer I had distanced myself, having no contact with him. My heart yearned less and less, and I had found peace within myself.
Not for long.
As school started again, I was starstruck once more. Admired him from a distance, exchanging awkward glances as we stayed apart. Yet, a storm began to stir deep in my gut.
Something is wrong with him.
Something about his aura, his eyes, his etiquette (or the lack thereof) simply irked an intuitive, avoidant urge.
So sideways glances turned to rolled eyes.
Conversation turned to ignorance.
I will never look at him the same way again.